Past's Relic, Future's Savior
by Abramus5250
Summary: In the grim darkness of the future, a surprising find in an empty region of space will unearth an artifact older than the Imperium of Man itself, a discovery that will have far reaching consequences for the entire galaxy. Just who is this man, and what is his purpose? Currently rated T, though this may change. Occurs in the "If the Emperor had a Text to Speech Device" series.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

 **A/N: this fic was mostly inspired by my recent inclusion into the Warhammer 40K fandom, as well as the 40K story "Defrosted: A 40K Story" by Fusion-Corsair. I am still new to the fandom, so please, if I make mistakes on names or places or attitudes or such, please let me know.**

In the grim darkness of the future, there is only war. Far too many know this to be the case, and as such, devastation rages across the galaxy. Armies of differing species and ideals clash for control or survival, and more often than not, the innocent are cut down in swaths too horrifying to comprehend. The loss of life on such a galactic scale is so immense that many have become indifferent to it all, willing to send millions to their deaths for sometimes the simplest of reasons or most ingrained of beliefs. As such, few if any truly believe in the art of diplomacy, much less peace. Very few indeed.

Deep within the bowels of Holy Terra, birthplace of humanity and seat of the power within the Imperium of Man, a Mechanicus Adept trailed through a long and winding corridor, followed closely behind by a pair of newly-enlisted Terran PDF and a small cluster of servo-skulls. He brought up the rear of the pack, though, as a highly trained squad of Terran PDF veterans, as well as a pair of Sisters of Battle, followed the leader of this cohort.

A recent expedition to an old pre-Heresy library had revealed a hidden chamber, and though nothing of importance had been found, it stood to reason that the singular door heading out of the chamber and deeper into the sprawling lower levels of the planet could eventually lead to something of interest. The most important Magos of the Mechanicum within the region had been granted access, with him picking his own security team. However, he wished for a few more meat shields, as well as grunts to do the heavy lifting.

So, proverbial straws were drawn, and Adept Baramus was selected to follow along, accompanied by some ancient servo-skulls and a pair of similarly well-trained but, in the end, highly expendable PDF soldiers. Well, not so much selected as "hey, it's your turn", and with the possibility of finding either nothing or something truly remarkable (and then rubbing it in his superior's metallic face), Baramus had set off with all haste, despite the misgivings of his own accompanying "bodyguards".

"I don't like this," one of the Terran PDF soldiers said, his head on a swivel as his flashlight shone through the corridor. His bolter pistol was as lubed as one could be, the machine spirit having been extra prayed-to and sanctified for this very mission. "Nobody's been down here for centuries."

"Quiet, Nothingus," the other man said, carrying the same extremely-lubed weapon. Everyone else was either ignoring them, or too busy discussing what could lie ahead of them to care. "I don't care if you like it or not, just keep your eyes peeled."

The Adept spoke up, trying to ignore the banter between the two, despite how grating it was on his audio receptors. "More like no person has been here in millennia, actually. Indeed, nothing appears to have been disturbed for a very long time, according to my sensors."

"I'm surprised we can even move through this much dust: it's like walking through sand," the second PDF trooper said. "How did this much even get down here, anyways? Is there a vent or something that just blows it all in here?"

"Yeah, well, give me regular sand and sunshine any day, Importantus. If this place has been unseen by human eyes for thousands of years, who knows what we could find?" Nothingus said.

"Perhaps a cache of tomes on the history of humanity?" the Adept said. "Or the storage hold of an ancient STC fragment?" The hunt for archaeotech was an ever-present and sometimes all-consuming aspect of his order, and as such he was not above being thrilled at the idea of discovering such an artifact. Such discoveries often brought great glory and honor upon those adepts who undertook such a journey and retrieved something of value. Perhaps he would be elevated to the upper echelons of his order, should whatever he find be proven valuable enough. However, if that were the case, he would have to be extremely careful upon the discovery of an STC. If the Magos suspected him of not being loyal to the Mechanicum and the Machine God, but instead to any other faction within the Imperium, then he'd likely end up melted into scrap by the flamers of the Sororitas.

"I just hope we don't find a chaos cult or something, I hate cults," Nothingus muttered. "Last thing I need right now is some creepy sacrificial offering bringing out a demon and killing everything in its path. That always happens in the stories, you know: some unsuspecting people just come across a tomb or crypt or something, and _Boom_! They unleash some chaos demon or ancient evil legend or something, and then the area ends up having to be either bombarded from orbit or the planet just gets flat-out exterminated."

"You're overreacting, there's probably nothing down here but dust and us," Importantus replied. "Besides, unless the circumstances were the most dire possible, I doubt anyone in the Imperium would be willing to bombard, never mind exterminate, the most holy place in all of the galaxy."

Still, the trio kept their collective gazes ahead and alert as the corridor continued on, winding this way and that as it led deeper into the bowels of Terra. Up ahead, there was a dull hum that seemed to emanate from very walls, but as the Adept drew closer, he came to realize that it was the not the walls that were the source, but a small pillar, upon which sat a small object, lines across it in strange runes he did not immediately recognize. It was rather large, more so than a normal human could likely carry, and seemed etched with great care. The Magos and his highly trained bodyguards were staring at the device, seemingly in a trance. Only, when the three drew closer, did they realize the faces of their partners were… disappointed.

"It's not an STC, that's for sure," one of the Sororitas muttered.

"If it's not, can we burn it?" the other asked, hoisting her flamer.

"No, calm yourselves, I suspect it is still of value!" the Magos said, before turning to the lesser Adept. He never did like the sisters, what with their latent pyromania. Even with the reformation of the Ecclesiarchy well under way on Holy Terra, the Sisters of Battle still liked to burn things with wanton abandon at times. "Brother Baramus, tell me what this is."

At last! A chance to prove himself and his worth. "Given it's strange appearance, I believe we must retrieve this for further study," the Adept said, gesturing with one of his Mechandrites. "It appears to be a dataslate, a very old one at that. It could be very well something of extreme importance, or contain as much, so we must remove it with great care."

The Magos looked at Nothingus and Importantus. "You two, get out the retrieval gear, but do not touch the relic. Baramus shall deal with that, as is custom."

Audibly gulping as they removed a pair of devices from their packs, the two PDF troopers stood back and let the Adept get to work. Strapping them to the servo-skulls, Baramus gently pushed them towards the relic before carefully packaging it. With a slight whine the strange artifact slowly rose from the pillar, the floating skulls somewhat strained by its weight. Pushing it along gently, and flanked by th two PDF, Baramus followed the Magos and his team out of the room, wondering just what it was, or what it could do, or if he would be recognized for its retrieval if it turned out to be important. The Magos would likely declare most of the credit if it were of even the slightest importance, but then again, perhaps not.

Hours later, as they spoke to the Inquisitor waiting for them at the entrance to the dark corridor, their gradually-building hopes were dashed by the mere look on his slightly scarred face.

"You mean to tell me all that you found was just for some kind of ancient tablet?" he asked, finger itching towards his sidearm as he gazed over the object, unimpressed. Here he had been considering killing everyone there not loyal to him, had it been an actual STC fragment. Yet after all the waiting for something truly miraculous, it turned out to be something as mundane as that? "Your actions of wasting my time, like this stupid object, smell of heresy." The man had been a commissar for a short time before becoming an inquisitor, and it showed in how readily he was willing to use his sidearm on anything he deemed "heretical".

"Calm yourself, Triggerus, we do not yet know what this artifact might yield us, for it has not been completely deciphered yet, and I shouldn't have to remind you that this task falls to the Mechanicum," the Magos said, its voice unidentifiable as either a man or woman. It very well knew the other reason Triggerus was upset, and was glad for it. "Besides, to one such as yourself, everything smells of heresy; you should really lay off the recaf."

The man _harrumphed_ at that, but relaxed slightly as he walked to the tech priest's side. "Then, what does it say?" Anything sounding of heresy would have to be expunged or censored before it was made known to the public, so it was his job to know such things. The public needed to be kept in the dark of the things that inhabited the galaxy, for their own protection.

"According to the skulls, it is a short story of someone, a man, from long ago. It gives the story, one that is rather vague and filled with what could be construed as borderline heresy, but gives no name to this man, as well as a set of numbers I am still trying to decipher. They could be dates, coordinates, or even passwords to something else for all we know. It will take some time to decode them, I think, but preferably elsewhere than on Holy Terra."

"So... then what do we do?" Adept Baramus asked. "It would seem such a waste to simply toss such history in a trash receptacle, if indeed there is no reason to keep it."

"Indeed, brother. We must bring this to one of our research worlds for further study, and to see if we can find anything that might aid us in such a quest," the Magos replied. "The small warp storms near some of our other bases have been causing trouble. Have some of the local PDF bring it aboard one of our ships, we will have the ship leave for Orestes Prime tonight with you on board, Brother Baramus. It is only fitting that you, the discoverer of such a piece, be the one to examine it." The Magos did not believe the relic would lead to anything important, and he had other business to attend to. As such, better to push it off onto some lackey than deal with it himself.

"I will bring word to the Administratum on this new discovery," Inquisitor Triggerus replied, giving a curt bow. "Perhaps they will be able to decide how to proceed after the studies have been completed, and what to do with this new information." With that, he left, the small retinue of soldiers along the far wall accompanying him out of the library.

"Yes, indeed," the Magos replied, running several of its Mechandrites over the slab's shiny surface. "What secrets do you hide, I wonder?"

* * *

High in the Imperial Palace of Terra, within a room seen by only a select few, sat a golden throne, resplendent in glory too great for mere mortal minds to comprehend. Upon it's seat sat a figure enshrouded with countless wires, tubes, and blinking light, their skeletal appearance offset by an innately glowing radiance that surpassed anything mankind had ever created before.

The God-Emperor of Mankind, the Corpse Emperor.

His body continually decaying ever-so-slowly, his mind remained fixed in this realm, powering the Astronomicon, allowing for his species to continue journeying across the stars. Yet, his mind was not what it once was, and as such, was merely a shell of its former self, splintered beyond imagining from the strain it was under. Countless fragments of the mind of once the most powerful being in the physical realm had been scattered all across the galaxy, both in the material realm and the Warp.

Yet, a small part, enormous compared to a normal human's mind but minuscule to the Emperor's mind as a whole, was focused elsewhere. It could perceive things as they happened, things that could potentially change much within the Imperium, and indeed, the galaxy. A long-lost piece of his past had been found, safely tucked away within the bowels of Terra: a connection to an older time, a time when he was nothing more than a shadowy figure in the history of Terra, then know as Earth. The nature of this small piece of history had always been on his mind at some point, as had many things, but he had always had more important things to do, like continue reclaiming the stars and pushing for humanity's domination of the galaxy. Yet, here he sat, unable to do much of anything else but think, sense the happenings in the galaxy around him, and power the Astronomicon.

" **So, they have finally found the key to his location,** " this small part of his once-vast mind thought, sounding slightly amused. " **I should think it was about time they did, with all the damn clues I left behind. But will they find him in time, or will others get to him first?** "

Under the watchful eyes of the Adeptus Custodes, the Emperor's decaying body sat still, unmoved as it had silently for ten thousand years.

* * *

The darkness of space filled the viewscreen of every ship that thus chose to travel through it, and that was no different for the _Terra's Scion_. A ship built over one hundred years prior, it was a jewel of its kind, not just because it was heavily armed, but also because it was fitted with amenities more fitting a luxury ship than an exploratory one. Technically a cruiser of sorts, though with both expanded armaments and enhanced cargo capacity, it was indeed something else to behold to someone who had no experience with Imperial ships. The vast number of crewmen on board often had fashioned their own living quarters into things resembling actual homes, so long they had been there.

The captain, however, only used the luxuries on board to his full advantage whenever he was at port on a supply run. His family had built a long tradition of being excellent captains for varying reasons, and had instilled that same kind of quality into their next generation. Perhaps that was why he, Captain Ordacius, felt little need for using his luxurious suites. He was too busy scouting out trade routes and exploring the galaxy for luxuries like parties and whatnot, being a Rogue Trader and all. Besides, what little crew he had, compared to other Rogue Traders, were undoubtedly thankful he worked alongside them and not lorded over them like some pirate thug.

Still, the guardsmen that made up a large part of his crew were not often the brightest bunch in the galaxy, many having been conscripted from either hive cities or agri-worlds, and it showed. They knew how to follow orders, how to fix things, and how to load and unload cargo, as well as occasionally repel pirates alongside the small contingent of marines on board. Yet, he had no inkling of whom to pick for a designated successor, for he was growing old and none of the countless children he had spawned over the many decades of his career had wanted anything to do with him or the family business. In his younger days, his power and prestige had gone to his head, badly.

Then again, that was primarily his own fault, as there weren't many ways for him to be reeled in, unless it were from previous experiences. When you leave behind a pregnant agri-world peasant or hive city official every few years and just show up out of the blue when the resultant child is nearly a man, the sudden family reunion tends not to go all that well. He'd been stabbed more than once, and shot at more times than he could count. By the Warp, his own family had wanted nothing to do with him after the fifth time they learned about it from some planetary governor whose daughter he had seduced, so Captain Ordacius now kept to himself and left his family's legacy where he believed it belonged: in the past, where he could no longer damage or be bound to it.

Still, he wanted to pass his ship onto someone and then perhaps retire to some paradise world to live in luxury for his remaining years, but none of the crew were worthy enough in his mind. Maybe he'd look around for someone at the next spaceport, or maybe he'd just sell it to the highest bidder...

"Captain, scanners are picking up something," a somewhat mechanized voice said from his right.

"Go ahead, Adept Syngra, put it on screen."

The female tech priest he had picked up from Mars several years before fiddled with some buttons before a large screen showed a somewhat blurry image to the bridge and her crew. "It appears to be a small ship, drifting through this sector of space."

"Is it still active?" They were literally in the middle of nowhere, having just exited the Warp, yet there was a ship, floating, light-years from the nearest planet of any kind, Imperium or otherwise.

"Other than the power core still running on minimum capacity, it appears to be all but shut off," Syngra replied. "It is not responding to our hails, so it would appear to be derelict. Yet..."

"Yes?"

"It appears to be completely intact, sir. No scorching or damage on the hull, the engines are off but apparently functional, and our scans indicate the shields, while powered-down for some reason, remain functional as well. Our scans are detecting at least one life sign on board, so there must be atmosphere within the hull, though it could just be a malfunction."

"Is it salvageable?" Ordacius asked from his captain's chair.

"The life sign, or the ship?"

"The ship of course." She was right, the life sign on board was likely just a problem of the scanners. Wouldn't be the first time, either, they could use a little tune-up whenever he got them to a shipyard, he supposed.

"Well, yes, but from the looks of it, it is very old, possibly pre-Heresy. Anything on board that would be an antique of the highest caliber." There was a note of restrained excitement in the partially-mechanized Adept's voice, seeing as anything ancient would likely be filled to the brim with archaeotech of sorts. Captain Ordacius left her to her own devices when it came to collecting as much "junk" as she saw fit, so long as it didn't interfere with her duties or her efficiency.

"Probably a fortune to any collector worth their salt," the captain added. "All right then, take us in for a closer look, and prepare a boarding shuttle. I want to see this ship for myself." Towing the ship would only be feasible if he were in an inhabited system, so getting the ship's engines back up and running would a top priority after it had been searched. That, and making sure the Gellar fields were working properly.

"Sir, it could be dangerous," one of the guardsmen said as the ship lurched forward slightly, the drifting vessel growing larger before them.

"I very well know that, anything out here could be dangerous," the captain said with a touch of annoyance, once again reminded that discipline was still needed from time to time. "That is why I'm sending you, Guardsmen Prollarius, along with two squads of marines, to check it out. Anything you find on board that appears useful or an antique, whether its technological in nature or simply cultural items, bring it back with you, but _do_ be careful. I don't want to find out you were bringing back a priceless dataslate or something, only to drop it because you weren't watching what you were doing."

 **A/N: I thank several readers who have already contacted me with questions and comments on the story so far. Rest assured, all queries, ideas and suggestions for improvement of the story will be taken into account, within reason of course. I would also like to thank my beta-reader Flame Falcon for helping me get started on this story. The idea had been floating around in my head for some time, but I guess it just took some encouragement to get it going is all.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Shoulda just kept my big mouth shut," Prollarius muttered as he and the two squads of marines exited the shuttle, one of the lesser tech priests tagging alongside him. "Won't catch as much shit if I just stay quiet and do as I'm told."

The hangar bay of the derelict ship was barely large enough to fit inside, but as it turned out the scans had been incorrect. There was no atmosphere within the ship, and seeing as it had likely leaked out ages ago, everyone wore a void suit. However, the artificial gravity was still in place, so there was that, at least.

Their equipment already checked out, each squad split off into three teams of four. One group went with Prollarius towards the bridge, whilst the others set about exploring the rest of the drifting ship. The tech priest, so machine-like he didn't even need a void suit, tagged along, stopping now and then to look over anything of interest they came across. Over their personal vox communicators, each fire team was to report whenever they found something, though from the amount of silence between reports, they were not finding all that much. Either the ship had been picked clean long before they had gotten there, or there had not been much on it to begin with.

The latter likely being the case, as the guardsman noticed that the ship must not have been inhabited or visited by anyone for a very long time. There were no footprints of any sort in the dust that coated every floor, seemingly centimeters thick, as well as coating every other surface. So much dust would be kicked up that the airless confines of the ship become hazy, almost foggy in nature. The question remained, though: who would abandon a perfectly good ship in this sector of space?

"Sir, judging from the scans, we have almost pushed through to the bridge," Prollarius said into his vox. "Given the ship's Raider-like dimensions, anything important to our mission should be located in there. At least, the tech priest seems to think so." As if in agreement, the mechandrite-covered crewmate nodded enthusiastically.

"Good, see what you can find, and check which systems still work," the voice of Captain Ordacius replied. "There'll be no point in trying to salvage this ship if the Gellar fields aren't working. I'm not risking a demonic incursion if we try and travel through the Warp with this thing attached to our hull."

The guardsman and the accompanying marines came upon the blast doors that blocked their way to the bridge. However, as soon as they stepped forward, a small light shone over them, emanating from above the blast doors.

"Life forms... detected," a voice said, causing them to raise their weapons on instinct. "State... your business." It sounded either surprised or relieved, but otherwise seemed neutral in tone. Then again, being entirely robotic in nature, the thought of it having a personality was not very likely.

"It's coming from the door itself?" one of the marines asked. There were no visible speakers, but then again, they could have simply been well-hidden.

"It must be the voice of the computer, the one meant to maintain this ship," Prollarius added. He cleared his throat. "We seek passage into the bridge of this vessel, cogitator."

"Human voice detected, engaging acceptance parameters..." the voice replied. After a short pause, there was a hiss, and the doors began to open, albeit slowly. "Access granted, children of Terra."

"I'm actually from Tentrion," one of the marines whispered. "Will that make a difference to it?"

"I think it means "children of Terra" as a blanket term, regardless of your home planet," another muttered. "We're all descended from humans that left Holy Terra countless generations ago, after all."

Prollarius shook his head at the chit-chat and pressed on, walking past the still-opening blast doors and onto the bridge. Easily fitting inside with the rest of his comrades, everyone set about waiting for the tech priest to look something over before they did. Many of the portions of the panels were covered in dust, and with the acceptance of the tech priest, the other began cleaning them off.

As Prollarius gazed around, he noticed a light blinking above one of the dimmed consoles the tech priest had already gone over. Peering closer he saw a button underneath, and a label in what must have been ancient Low Gothic describing the function of it.

Thankfully, it was similar enough to today's speech that he could still read it. "Power," he muttered. Pressing it, the ship lurched slightly, just as a hum filled their ears. The guardsman could practically feel power beginning to flow through the old ship, from over his head to under his booted feet.

The tech priest nearly lost his shit right then and there, his Mechandrites curling around himself in a protective manner as he let out a mechanical screech, as if expecting there to be an explosion. Noticing there suddenly wasn't one, he sent Prollarius a glare before resuming his work, much to the snickers of several of the other guardsmen. The little guy was always so high strung about tech, even more than Adept Syngra.

"Prollarius, we're picking up a major surge in energy coming from the ship's core. Did you press a button?" the voice of Ordacius asked over his vox, sounding a tad accusatory. Given that there was precedence for the guardsman for getting into trouble every now and then over buttons, he did have a legitimate reason for such a tone. That, and getting himself into enough trouble that he'd been banned from landing on several planets.

"Yes sir, but unlike last time, I believe I just turned the ship on," the guardsman said as consoles began to blink and power up, before pointing to two marines. "You two, check the ship controls, I need to know if there's anything about this ship that's unusual."

Just then, lights began to turn on all over the interior of the ship, including the bridge, and over the vox, several thanks were made from fellow marines. Using photo-visors in such dusty conditions was a bit troublesome, especially when it stuck to their faceplates. Some were now reporting findings of what looked to be ancient sets of tools left over from whoever had manufactured the ship, some of which seemed almost archaic in both design and function. Those could be worth a princely sum to the right collector...

"How might I assist you?" the voice from before suddenly asked, this time from directly in front of the station Prollarius was standing over.

Slowly seating himself in the old swivel chair before it, Prollarius paused. This cogitator had not spoken to another human, or likely anything, for what Syngra the Adept had told them was around ten thousand years. If it wasn't completely bonkers and just biding its time for some random takeover attempt or killing spree, then it could prove to be very useful to them. "Sir," he said over his vox. "I'm going to patch you through to the ship's cogitator while the team and I continue our search. I suggest we learn from it what we can as soon as possible."

"Agreed," came the voice of Ordacius. "Do be careful."

Fiddling with some tools, Prollarius and the tech priest hooked up one of the portable transmitters to his own vox, and set it in front of the terminal, before continuing out of the bridge, and into the rest of the ship.

* * *

High up on the bridge of the _Terra's Scion_ , the captain and the tech priest watched as the picture of the derelict ship's bridge came into view. His voice projected clear to the other side, and the returning noise as audible as if he were there, the captain cleared his throat. "Greetings, cogitator, I am Captain Ordacius of the _Terra's Scion_. I wish to know of the ship you currently inhabit. What can you tell me about it?"

"A pleasure to meet you, captain Ordacius," the voice replied. "This ship is a Hazeroth-class privateer, built in the shipyards of Jupiter."

"Jupiter?" he repeated, feeling a tad surprised: he'd never set his eyes upon Holy Terra, let alone visit any of the planets in the Sol system. He did not have the time, the wealth, or the clearance to do so. "Care to elaborate?"

"Status, unencrypted: information deemed declassified. This is the eight thousandth, three hundred and eleventh ship built of this class, built in the shipyards of Jupiter several decades after the ending of the Terran Unification Wars. Ships of this kind were given the mission of exploring the vast reaches of space and report back anything they found, be it a world filled with resources or lost sects of humanity. This ship, however, had an altogether different purpose, to hide until contact was made once more. It would seem that time has now come, as you are the first humans to establish contact with myself for a very long time."

"Cargo?" Adept Syngra asked. "What exactly does your ship carry?" Scout ships this old and of this class designation rarely carried cargo of any kind, seeing as they were meant for looking for things, not going off into space and hiding until they were stumbled across once more. To the tech priest, this meant that whatever it was carrying, it just _had_ to be important.

"Identity of cargo unknown, status… all files erased or corrupted," the cogitator said. "However, if you wish to remove it, something powerful should be used. The previous loaders stated that it was "a bitch to move" and "heavy as hell". However, it is designated as ultra priority, so do handle with care."

"Why is that?" He had several industrial moving vehicles on board that would be able to fit in a shuttle, but it would need to return to the _Terra's Scion_ to get them, thus leaving his marines alone on the other ship. Ordacius would prefer to know what it was before contemplating risking their lives over it. Besides, those were rather clunky, and if this was important, he'd need to break out the more delicate moving tools.

"I was bid farewell by the Emperor himself, albeit in a private ceremony in the middle of the night. He would not attend to such a clandestine event, alone, unless it was for the most important of reasons."

"Clandestine?"

"Yes, for this ship was sent on a mission with a skeleton crew, whom were evacuated and subjected to a mind cleansing shortly afterwards, so that none would know of my location, and according to the Emperor, all records of my construction had been either destroyed or altered beyond recognition, for my own safety. My assembly line designation was erased from records, for it too would have created a paper trail of sorts. If you are to look through your records, assuming they still exist, I doubt you would find anything of this ship."

"But why the secrecy, cogitator?" Ordacius asked. A clandestine send-off by the God-Emperor of mankind himself? Deleted or altered registries, no witnesses to its departure or destination? The cargo had to be something of untold value, perhaps worth more than all the money the captain had ever had pass through his hands in his expansive lifetime.

"Unknown," it replied. "The Emperor must not have wanted it found until the time was right."

"Find what, exactly?" Adept Syngra asked.

"Unknown." With that, the screen winked out, the cogitator apparently having turned itself off.

"Captain," a voice reported from over the vox. "I think I found something."

"What is it, Prollarius?" the captain queried. Hopefully he could glean more information from the cogitator at a later date. Right now, though, he needed to stay focused on the task at hand: finding and examining whatever cargo the ship had.

"I'll have someone bring a portable transmitter," he replied. "I'm in the cargo bay, and I believe I've found what the cogitator was talking about. That, and most likely the source of the _Scion's_ life sign reading."

"What is it?"

"It's... it's a cryo-pod, sir, about the size fit for a normal human. It's a bit hard to tell, the inside is rather frosted over, but there's... there's someone inside it."

The silence that ensued was so deafening, that a pin could have dropped in the cabin of _Terra's Scion,_ and Prollarius would have likely been able to hear it on the other ship just through his vox. "Come... come again?" Adept Syngra asked, the first of the cabin crew to regain their voice.

"It's a cryo-pod, and there's someone inside it," Prollarius repeated. "There's also strange figures, runes I think, covering the whole surface of it. I have no idea what they mean."

"They must be to ward off demons of the Warp, seeing as any human still alive in suspended animation is a magnet for either demonic possession or losing their soul to one," Ordacius finished. He had witnessed much in his long life, demonic incursions being handled by the Inquisition included, and he was not willing to risk bringing a demonically-possessed human popsicle onto his ship unless he was sure it could be dealt with. "Bring the pod on-board immediately, and then with all haste bring it to the detention center. Do be careful, though: whoever is in there could be someone incredibly important."

Much later...

It was a rather historic day for the captain of the _Terra's Scion_. It wasn't every day that one discovered an ancient ship of unknown but apparently incredible importance, nor was it every day that one came across a frozen human who was sent deep into space by the God-Emperor himself. Ordacius did not know a single person who had ever been to Holy Terra, nor had any of his crew, but to have in possession someone who came from Terra around the time of the rise of the Imperium itself...

Suffice to say, it made the man and the rest of the crew a bit light-headed. Who knew what secrets lay within the occupant's mind? What fragments of history that had been lost to time, since the dissolution of much knowledge after the Horus Heresy? Ordacius knew the only one more excited than he was Adept Syngra, seeing as anything this person knew about technology would likely be very different from their current understanding.

"How do we open it?" Prollarius asked after the cryo-pod was laid to rest in the brig, heavily armed marines and guardsmen standing at the ready, just in case. It was even more secure than one might assume, what with all the armed guards standing outside; plus, it was plenty reinforced, so much so that even a space marine would likely have trouble getting out without just blowing himself up.

"I... have no idea," Ordacius said. "What of you, Adept Syngra? Can you determine a way to open this pod, so that the human inside might speak with us once more?"

"From what I can gather, the runes are all engraved with a very strong material I cannot identify nor decipher, but they all seem to be centered around this particular symbol," she said, one of her mechandrites motioning towards a large green button. "Shall I press it? There are no other levels, switches, buttons or obvious sensors with which to interact..."

"Yes, Syngra, activate it, and bring our guest out of his sleep," the captain said, before turning to the others standing guard. "Shoot them if they seem possessed."

Slowly, the tech priest used one of her hands, partially mechanized but still consisting mostly of flesh and blood, to press the button. There was a slight hum, and the runes shown as a dull golden light seemed to seep from every crack and crevice aboard the device.

* * *

" _Time to wake up, young one, your day has arrived,_ " a voice said, sounding rather masculine in nature. It was calm, sincere, almost... _ethereal_ in quality, as if it were physically there, yet not entirely of this world.

It was the first voice he had heard in a very long time, longer than he could remember. How long had he been asleep in this… thing? The lights, the feeling of weightlessness, the crushing cold pressure, the salty ocean swirling around him... the pain... then fire and light…

" _Yes, my dear, time to wake up and greet the galaxy,_ " another voice said. This one, however, was definitely female, smooth and silky and rather pleasant to hear, yet with that same otherworldly quality that was hard to fully describe. "Y _our destiny lies ahead of you._ "

" _I think we should give him some time to adjust first before we discuss such matters,_ " the other voice said with a gentle firmness, in an almost fatherly tone. "I _t's not every day that one wakes up after being asleep for as long as he has. We'll introduce ourselves to him later._ "

Falling out of a dark space, the man shook his head clear as the voices faded away, only to be replaced by new ones. Yet, he could not see: everything was extremely blurry around him, so much so that staring at it hurt more than keeping his eyes shut. His balance was gone: he fell to the floor with a dull thud.

Pain: that was new, as was the sudden small throbbing in his head. He hadn't felt pain in a very long time. Yet, how long, exactly? Where even was he?

"Welcome," a voice said, the volume a bit louder than he had expected. Wincing as his body began to slowly adjust to the ambient temperature and light levels, the feeling of touch quickly returned to him as well. Yet, the first thing he noticed, after the cold floor beneath him, was a rather drafty breeze on every piece of his skin.

He was naked. Strange, yes, but he was not exactly shocked, but rather curious. What was he to do now?

"Can you speak?" the same voice asked. Masculine, definitely, and rather gruff at that, but not the same as he had heard before. Who were those two voices in his head from before? He could not recall ever hearing them before.

"What is your name?" another voice asked. This one, it sounded female, but off slightly; as if filtered, through a mechanical mask, or from within a machine?

He blinked a few times, control over his limbs beginning to slowly return. The dull ache behind his eyes subsiding slowly, but not entirely going away, he looked up at the blurry images before him.

"H... H... H... He... Hel... Hello," he said before he locked eyes on one figure, and then promptly slumped over, his body losing all manner of control as his eyesight continued to return to him. The beings... most were human, dressed strangely and carrying strange items, some of which might have been weapons, but one... it had the face of a woman, and most of the figure, but those... _metallic_ pieces attached to her arms, the... _shiny tentacles_ sprouting from her _back_... what _was_ she?

He closed his eyes and rested his head on the cold ground. Just... make it all go away, if only for a short time. This.. whatever _it_ was standing over him, the pain in his head and body, the feeling of the cold floor... all of it.

"Sir, I think he's fainted," the mechanical female's voice said. "What shall we do?"

"Well, whoever he is, he sounds friendly to me, though that Low Gothic is unlike any I've heard. Guardsmen, keep an eye on him, in case he wakes up and tries anything. Adept Syngra, I believe we need to get him to a bed of sorts, where he can properly rest," the other, gruff voice replied. "Prollarius, bring in two of our medics to move him and check him out for anything, and make sure they get him a pair of clothes. Some simple robes, if we have any. Cryo-pod jokes aside, he must be freezing."

"Yes sir." The third voice, another masculine one, already sounded distant as the dull ache seemed to throb through every part of his being. Those two words were the last things he heard before darkness once more consumed the man's mind, though this time, it felt... _different_. Not asleep from the ravages of time, as it had been, but simply just out of touch with the here and now, if only for a while.

It felt rather nice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 **A/N: I really tend to spend time writing the next sequential chapter after I've already published the most recent one, so I apologize if you expect back-to-back chapter uploads every other day or so. I'm afraid I'm not quite** ** _that_** **good, and the story's overall plot slowly evolves as it gets published. So, without further ado, here is the next chapter, a bit longer than the first two.**

The dark expanse of space greeted the small ship of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the _Far Horizon_ , as it arrived at the docks high above the planet Orestes Prime, situated within the Segmentum Pacificus. The overall barren-looking world twinkled slightly with the lights of countless factories and Hives, the world's oceans long-since drained away to provide room to such constructs. The ship, high above the planet, was an Orion-Class Star Clipper, equipped with more engines than a ship its size was expected to have, as well as unusually powerful void shields and a Gellar Field generator designed for a much larger ship. It was not meant for direct engagement, but for travel and as a support vessel, for carrying cargo, and for exploration of the stars for lost sects of humanity, or equally-lost pieces of archeotech. Basically, a customized Raider-class privateer made for speed.

That was why, perhaps, Adept Baramus had chosen to travel along with it. His superiors had deemed him "fit" to travel with the strange data slab he had discovered, as he should assist in its study. It was not every day that he was able to visit Orestes, a hub of knightly feudalism and technological study within this sector of space, and the prospect of touring its massive forges and halls of science sent a pleasurable chill down Baramus's partially-mechanical spine. That, and the fact that it's massive factories churned out war gear at the rate, which warranted it a Forge World designation, meant much more to Baramus than most others.

As he rose from one of the cabin seats and moved towards the cargo hold, he turned to the captain of the small ship, a woman who had served the Imperium faithfully for a good twenty years so far. "Captain, are there by chance any ships above the planet?"

"Other than ours?" the slightly mechanized woman replied, the wires from the dome atop her head leading down her back. "No, nothing on our sensors, sir. Sector's been pretty quiet recently, what with a lot of war gear headed off elsewhere for some big push. You'd think some sort of traitorous Chaos scum would try for the planet like they have in the past, but then again, the new sub-orbital defenses would pound most fleets to scrap, so we shouldn't be worried."

"Thank you," he replied. "Our landing codes should be new enough for the spaceport directors to accept. Otherwise we might be delayed for some time."

As if on cue, a voice came over the ship's primary vox. " _Far Horizon_ , we are under orders to escort your shuttles to the planet's surface. However, there is an error in our registry as to the codes you provided us: please stand by whilst we sort this out down here. Sorry for the delay, this should take only but a moment to correct."

"You'd think they'd be able to tell the importance of our work for the Imperium by the fact that we need fraggin' codes to land," the captain muttered. "It's not like they have to worry about a Chaos raid anytime soon."

"Nevertheless, they are within their right to keep us in orbit for the time being, at least as a safety precaution," Baramus replied. "However, you may want to find something to take your mind off of our situation, as this is likely going to take a while."

* * *

The cold and the feeling of unyielding metal pressed against his body were gone. Now, in its place there lay a soothing warmth, surrounding him from all sides. Blankets?

He opened his eyes, his sight returning to focus much quicker than before. Everything was clear now, but what was not clear to him was just where he was. He was in a bed of sorts, propped up in what felt like a set of clean robes, with a trio of humans standing a short ways off, conversing amongst themselves. The room itself seemed very spacious, but he could not identify just what kind of room it was. A hospital wing? A morgue? Some kind of museum?

One of the figures looked over at him. "Ah, it would seem he is awake once more, captain," they said. Not one he had seen before, but she bore a feminine voice and feminine looks, though with none of the metallic attachments like the feminine form next to her. "Shall I fetch the ship's physician again?"

"No, let him sleep for now, he deserves some rest," the man beside her replied. That voice, gruff and commanding: he had heard it before, when he had first awoken. "Besides, I wish to speak with our guest: you may observe, but do nothing unless ordered otherwise, and keep this meeting to yourself. Adept Syngra will be taking notes and recording this exchange for posterity."

"Exchange?" the first one said, sounding slightly confused.

"We are likely the first humans he has seen in a very long time, and I would like to learn a little from him without pressing too hard."

The formerly-frozen human watched as the man and the partially-mechanized woman, or at least, what he hoped was a woman, came over to his bedside. The cyborg remained standing, but the man grabbed a spare chair of sorts and sat down on it.

"Greetings," the man said. "I know you must have many questions, and are more than a tad confused as to where you are. Am I correct?"

The man nodded.

"Very well then, I guess introductions should be our first order of business," was the reply. "I am Captain Ordacius, though you can refer to me simply as "captain" and my assistant here is tech priest Syngra, of the Adeptus Mechanicus. What, by chance, is your name?"

"I... I am... I am not sure." Thinking too hard hurt, so trying to remember everything at once was rather painful.

"What?"

"Name is... something. Beyond me, cannot... recall." Much of his memory was scattered, in tatters, with pieces filtering in from here or there. Speaking was also a chore, his lips trying to remember how to form words fluently.

"Well, everyone has a name," Ordacius said. "What would you like us to call you?"

A small voice nagged in the back of his head. While he had been asleep, someone had whispered something to him. Not only a name, but a title to go by, for that was all that names truly were, correct?

"I... you can call... call me Solomon," he said. "I am... Solomon." No other name felt right, for some reason, and he had an inkling there would be no need to make up a last name for now. Besides, that little voice had implied he didn't need one anyway.

"Solomon," the captain repeated. "A strange name, but then again, we are from vastly different times, I should think. So, tell me, Solomon, what year were you born? Where are you from? If you can't remember, or don't wish to tell me right away, please, don't feel afraid to let me know."

"Year?" the man now known as Solomon asked. "Year... long ago, long before sleep. It's... hard to explain. Memory... jumbled, with thoughts, ideas, all still swirling around. Slowly coming back, must wait for it all. But… Earth. I'm from Earth. Aren't you?"

"Well, maybe originally, but no, I am not from Earth," was the reply. "That's an old name for it: we now, and for a very long time, have referred to it as Terra, or Holy Terra for the more… spiritual types."

"Holy Terra," Solomon repeated. "Sounds… strange."

"I see," Ordacius muttered. "Now, what can you tell me of your time? The last thing you remember before you were put in your deep sleep?"

"Big water... ocean waves," Solomon replied. "Falling, no weight, bright light, hard punch to chest, floating... deep water, ocean everywhere, couldn't breathe. Tired, so tired, everyone screaming... felt warmth, then nothing." It had happened so long ago that to him, it was as if it hadn't happened at all, almost like some sort of dream. "Then I wake and see you; that's all."

Well, this was a puzzle, for sure. The captain knew that this experience was similar to those of survivors of suborbital crashes, usually onto alien worlds during wartime, but he was fairly sure this man had not been in a war during the time of his cryostasis. No, this was something else, a crash of a civilian ship, perhaps? "Solomon, what do you know of the God-Emperor?"

He blinked. "Who?"

"The God-Emperor."

"I've... I do not remember anyone by that name."

Well, that answer was certainly unexpected. If this man had crashed and been placed in cryo-sleep, without any knowledge of the God-Emperor, and was indeed from Holy Terra, then that could mean only one thing to Captain Ordacius. Astounding, completely incredible, and downright out of this world, and yet... rather reasonable, given the circumstances.

"You're from before the God-Emperor's revelation to mankind, aren't you? That would make you well over ten thousand of years old! No wonder your memory is all jumbled and a mess: that would be a lot to remember for anyone." The captain made a mental note to ask Adept Syngra to immediately quizzing the man on technology from back then before any of the crew found out his age. Word would likely get out to the rest of the Imperium of such a find if and when they ever got to a major spaceport planet, and before he knew it, Captain Ordacius would either be seized alongside Solomon by the Inquisition, or worse, just outright killed, and then Solomon taken away regardless. He prayed to the Emperor that the former situation would be the better one.

"I... I think so," Solomon muttered. "Where... where am I? What is this place?"

"You are aboard my ship, the _Terra's Scion_. The room we are in was a spare storage room, though now I guess it could be your sleeping quarters for the time being."

"Ship?" Terra... that was the name for Earth in Latin. If that were the case, then maybe everything else was named as such.

"Yes, ship, a ship that traverses the great expanse of stars throughout the galaxy. I am a Rogue Trader by trade, a man blessed by the Imperium to go off and pretty much do as I wish, within reason of course. Find habitable worlds or those filled with needed resources, scout for any enemies within a specified distance of one of our worlds, haul cargo, trade with whomever I like, conquer worlds, you name it."

Solomon blinked. "That's... that's a lot," he said. "You're the captain?"

"Yes, I am," Ordacius replied, before motioning to the partially-metallic woman beside him. "As I've already mentioned, this is Mechanicus Adept Syngra, my ship's technological expert and all-around mechanic. She helped to wake you from your cryo-pod."

"Greetings," she said, one of her tendrils moving towards him. "Sorry to have startled you before."

"That's... that's okay, I guess," Solomon said hesitantly, gently gripping the tendril's end and shaking it. Seeming satisfied, the tech priest retrieved her claw.

"Solomon, I am going to tell you something very important," Ordacius whispered. "Mankind has spread across the stars in a great Imperium, but the inner workings of it are complex and often fraught with either corruption or complacency. As such, a person like you could be seen as a tool to advance the standings of certain individuals, or worse, as a threat to the status quo. A person from before the time of the Imperium? Countless beings would feel threatened by the knowledge you do or they think you could possess, and while some would seek to kill you, others would seek to claim you for their own uses. That is why I aim to keep you hidden from them for the time being."

"That sounds awful, but... why are you telling me this?" His voice was fully his once more, and Solomon was glad. Now his thoughts and his mouth could match at the same speed without tripping over one another. "Why would you warn me of such people, if you yourself are not one yourself?"

"You think I am?"

"I have only met you for a short time, yet... no, I do not believe you are like them. Yet, still, why would you warn me of them, or vow to keep me from their clutches? I bet you could stand to gain a great deal from me being handed over to such people."

"Indeed I could, but I never take a risk of such magnitude unless I am for sure the cards are stacked in my favor, and in my business, it pays to not trust anyone like them to fully keep their word. Besides, Solomon, you could be very useful for the future of the Imperium," the captain said with a slight shrug. "Call it a hunch. However, you are not yet ready to face it alone. I will teach you our ways, and, in turn, perhaps you can teach me of what you know of your own time, should you recall it. Agreed?"

The man sighed. "That's the best deal I'm going to get isn't it?"

"Afraid so."

"Then I'll take it. What would you have me do, captain?"

"First things first, we'll get you dressed, and then, we can begin."

* * *

"His answers are truthful," Adept Syngra said as she sat with the captain in his private quarters, later that night. The rest of the ship was asleep, save for the skeleton crew that made sure everything was in order. "My sensors detected no lies in anything he said."

"Sensors and other machines can be fooled, if one is skilled enough," Ordacius muttered.

"I can corroborate the tech priest's assertions," a robed figure muttered. The astropath in the captain's employ was very skilled at reading minds and emotions, though usually to detect signs of a potential mutiny. "I too detected no lies or omissions, only what he knew. It felt to me as though things had been forcefully removed from his mind, but by whom I do not know."

The captain nodded. "Do you think he could really be from that far in the past?" It was almost unbelievable to comprehend the possibility, but then again, stranger things had happened in the galaxy.

"I do not know, but if the ship is of any indicator, he is indeed from at least before the rise of the Imperium," she replied. "However, I find myself wondering just what else he could know. Any human from that time would likely have at least some inkling of how technology worked, and anything he mentions could lead us to heresy of many kinds, be it technological or historical." The threat of heresy was always present, and she knew the captain was an avid believer that constant vigilance would keep it from poisoning their duty. He was more careful than most in his position, even if it didn't outright appear so.

"Agreed," the captain said. "We'll refrain from talking to him of "heresy" for the time being. It is my duty as captain to keep this ship and her crew safe from any and all harm, both from outside and within. So, we'll answer his questions as best we can, but we'll keep a close eye on him, just in case. I don't place my trust in anyone lightly, Syngra, and even though I do find him trustworthy, that trust is a tenuous one."

"What of the bridge crew? They will undoubtedly have questions about him, some of which he might not be able to answer."

"They will get to know him eventually, I'll see to that, so when word gets out of his origin, not if, then I'll be sure to let them know the cogitator was just malfunctioning. They'll believe me when I tell them the ship is only a few decades old, maybe a century at most. The medic attending to him has been sworn to secrecy on threat of termination, though I hope it will not have to come to that. Even if she did spill the collective beans, I'm not sure any of the crew would fully believe her anyway. Besides, that'd be a blessing in disguise, as I'd prefer for the crew to not wish to turn him over to the Inquisition at the first sign of anything strange. Rumors would also help to undermine any credibility of the truth, and the crew are the biggest gossipers I know."

"Why would you not want the Inquisition knowing of Solomon?"

"I'd prefer to keep him close by for now, where I can keep an eye on him. There's no telling what he knows, or what he could lead us to, and I'd prefer not to lose him to some overzealous inquisitor. I'll admit, he's not the most normal man I've met, despite what I plan on teaching him; he's sure to be a strange one."

"Strange?"

"Syngra, he's from over ten thousand years ago. He'll be anything but "normal" to us. He has no apparent psyker qualities greater than that of any normal human, and he has none of the genetic deformities or distinctions one would associate with someone from our time. He literally knows nothing of our time other than what we will tell him, a blank slate if you will. We must try and refrain from turning him into one of us too soon, before we learn everything we can from him. He might choose to not tell us things if he does become like us, or conveniently "forget" things that go against our own dogmas, out of fear."

"I guess…"

"Another thing, Syngra, and I mean it this time. You can ask him about technology, whatever technology you wish, but… don't go overboard, okay? Don't get in his face if he refuses, or doesn't fully know how to explain it. I don't want to hear about you trying to get the astropath to read his mind while he sleeps or doesn't want to talk to you if you make him upset. That psyker is busy enough as it is maintaining contact with the Imperium."

"Yes sir, I will… refrain from overly questioning Solomon on the matter of technology. You do know, though, that I am required to send back any and all such information to my superiors, remember? That was part of my contract being on your ship."

"I know. Just… try and leave his name out of it? Make up something about you finding the information on scattered dead worlds or something, and have Solomon make some forgeries if they request physical proof. Just… don't bring the Inquisition in on this. I never want to deal with the likes of those overzealous megalomaniacs again. We might be okay if any of the radical inquisitors catch wind of it: they might just take him off our hands and leave us alone. The puritanical ones will do that, but then kill all of us and melt my ship down for scrap."

"So… try to stay out of the Inquisition's crosshairs, but do not expect them to remain uninformed of this for long."

"Yes. Nobody expects the Imperial Inquisition."

* * *

It only took around four weeks of study under Captain Ordacius before he became less of a guest and more of a crew member, but Solomon came to realize that the world he lived in now was the polar opposite of the one he had come from. Death and destruction were on scales so vast, he still had a hard time comprehending it, though the fact that everyone seemed to speak a strange combination of English and many other languages did little to help. He learned it was called Low Gothic, and that Latin, a formerly dead language, as much as he could remember, was basically High Gothic: strange how things like that can change. Besides, psyker witches and aliens and chaos demons and all sorts of stuff he had never expected to be real, well, were, and always extremely dangerous. The technology of this Imperium was also far more advanced than what he had thought, but in many ways it was woefully inept, backwards or just plain stupid.

With many more of his memories returning to him in a mostly-orderly manner, Solomon began to use them to build a rapport with the captain that few of the crew seemed to share, though he had no idea why that was. When he had a question, Ordacius did not hesitate to explain it to him, slowly if need be or he was confused by it, and in return, he would tell him of his time, back when Terra was Earth, and ships soared across oceans, not the vast emptiness of space. He treated the captain with respect, not just because he had awakened him, but because Ordacius treated him the same in return.

Yet... there were things he knew the captain was not telling him, but he didn't press him for details, especially if the captain constantly skirted around the subject. His apparently favorite excuse was "to keep Solomon safe", though from who, he did not elaborate. Even with all he had learned, not everything of this future was likely as it seemed, and deep down, Solomon knew that Ordacius possibly saw him as an asset, so long as he retained his usefulness. Solomon spoke freely with him on all he knew, however, as he suspected the captain would not be so nice if he discovered Solomon was purposefully keeping things from him. So, when he found what he assumed to be listening devices in his room, he let them be, both as a sign of good faith and so as to avoid arousing suspicion. Eyes and ears everywhere traced his every move, he was sure of it, but he didn't really care too much, as it didn't interfere with his daily routines. It still made him a bit sad that the man didn't trust him and felt such needs were necessary, but given his position and responsibility, it was just as likely any other captain would have done the same.

Or, he could have been picked up by a crazy captain and either killed or just thrown into a brig. In Solomon's opinion, he had likely gotten the best chance he could have in this galaxy. To think, being picked up by Orks, or Dark Eldar… it made him shudder just imagining it.

He eventually learned how to use the weapons of the time period, though not without some difficulty. He still couldn't see the reason in wielding a chainsword first when you could just shoot the enemy before they get that close, but then the captain had told him of how resilient many of humanity's enemies were, so he practiced as best he could. Through the captain's guidance, he became a decent marksman with most weapons, though got into some trouble with some guardsmen over the proper means to aim with the lasgun, and the reason it was not very strong.

" _Why is the power pack in backwards?_ "

" _It's not in backwards, that's the way it always goes. See? Minus to minus, plus to plus, easy enough that even an ogryn could do it_."

He made a mental note to switch his own lasgun's power pack around when nobody was looking. Perhaps then it'd make a difference if and when he had to use it.

However, some of the more... unusual days spent aboard the ship were down in something akin to a workshop and a hoarder's house. Tech of all kinds, along with stuff that just may have been scrap metal and frayed wire, lay strewn about in oddly-organized piles. Adept Syngra was almost irrationally interested in anything he had to say of technology, and so was insistent on him coming down to look over what she had. In fact, if he wasn't talking with Ordacius, he was talking, sometimes against his will, with Syngra.

" _Is that a design for a tactical helmet visor? It looks incredible."_

 _"Yes, but it is from before our time, and we must study it to its full potential before we can try and make one."_

 _"But… the design is capable of tracking incoming enemy projectiles, as well as calculating their origin, seeing in the dark, and even scanning for hidden explosives. Wouldn't that be, I don't know, helpful? I thought you guys needed different kinds of helmets for that: this would make them only need one, a helmet everyone could use!"_

 _"The design has never been built before according to our records, we must discover if it is techno-heretical to attempt to construct such a machine. Also, this "faceplate" you refer to… do you think you could design one for me from the fragments I have already decoded? It sounds fascinating."_

 _"I… I guess so, but I'd need to see some blueprints for your material printer over there."_

 _"Of course, but you can only use it in my company, and only after making an offering to the machine spirit within It especially likes being lubricated in slow, gentle motions."_

 _"I swear, I don't understand any of you half the time_."

Yet, the more he dug into the workings of this strange new galaxy, the more Solomon was convinced that he was one of the few sane or at least logical people left, seeing as even Captain Ordacius followed what the tech priest suggested. She wasn't always wrong, per se, but sometimes, the way she stared at him when he talked about technology of his time, he felt she was going to short circuit or something. That, and her rants on techno-heresy made him wish he could pull the hair from his head. It was coming back in, slowly, but still, why would you ever think of putting a battering ram on a tank, when you could just blow a hole in the enemy wall instead?

Hair was not the only things that came back to him during those four weeks. He discovered he had a penchant for cursing when things became too aggravating or impossible to deal with, something that had earned him some strange looks from the crew. None of them had ever heard of "Jesus Christ", so he explained it away as simply being an expression, or at least, that was how Ordacius had told him to do so. He didn't want to get lynched for not "praising the Emperor" at the right times.

More memories continued to return to Solomon during that time, many of them from his childhood. Playing on a swing set, swimming in a pool, playing card games with faces that remained indeterminable... faces that he knew he would never see again. All he had of his old life were the memories that still filtered into his mind and the strange scars that ran all across his body. Even with all these people on board the ship, fellow humans of some caliber or another, he felt more alone than he had ever been.

Yet, for all of this, every time he went to sleep in his quarters, he was not completely alone, something for which he was now grateful. Approximately a week after his "awakening", a pair of voices had come into his head and began to speak to him. At first, he had thought he was going completely crazy, a justifiable thought given his circumstances, but the voices insisted that the pair of them were not just figments of his imagination. In fact, soon after they convinced him of this, he realized he had heard them before, when he first awoke.

The male voice called himself Adam, and the female one referred to herself as Eve. Somehow, Solomon knew these weren't even close to their real identities, but let that slide and simply listened to what they had to say. Then, after four weeks of filling him in on the galaxy as a whole, vague mentions of odd things and the occasional advice on what to say to the captain or Syngra, the conversations did a complete 180 one night.

" _Solomon, I am afraid the time has come_ ," Adam said, interrupting Solomon's dream of eating some apple pie. He hadn't seen any evidence of apples on board the ship, so he was sadly accepting the fact that he could no longer taste that sweet dessert. " _Your destiny is calling to you, and soon, it shall be yours to take a hold of._ "

"Destiny?" he asked. "What destiny?" They always did this, spring crap on him all of a sudden. The week before, Eve had hinted to him that talking to the guardsmen, marines and other crew on board the ship was a good thing, even if the combined intelligence of several of them was likely less than just his own. Apparently, though, drinking and then fighting with them to an extent was a good way to earn their respect, and after receiving a pair of black eyes, a busted nose and what he had sworn were some cracked ribs, he was now "one of them." He had suspected there could have been a better way to accomplishing the same result, though.

" _The reason you were saved all those years ago, the reason you still survive into this time, the reason why Adam and I speak with you when you sleep_ ," Eve said. " _All of that is connected to your destiny, and for good reason_."

"Let me guess, you won't tell me what it is right now, but in time, it will all become clear, right?" He had heard this far too often, and for all his seemingly-endless patience, he was starting to get rather aggravated every time they mentioned it.

" _See? I told you he was a smart one_ ," Eve said to Adam, sounding a tad smug.

 _"I never doubted his intellect, only his resolve_ ," Adam replied. " _Not many would be up to a task like this. Besides, everyone needs a little push now and then. Solomon, you've been prepared by us and the captain as best you could, but now is the time for you to act on your own. Your memories, though still fractured, will keep coming back to you, and in time, they will aid you in ways you do not yet realize._ "

"What must I do?" Act on his own? Just what did that mean? Was the captain going to abandon him on some planet or something the minute Ordacius determined he could learn nothing more from Solomon? No, that wasn't it, they had to be talking about something else. Besides, were they the reason his memories were not all coming back? Or was that entirely up to his own brain?

" _You must do what is right, Solomon,_ " Eve said, interrupting his thoughts. " _However, whatever that is... is up for you to decide. That is all any of us can really do, is chose to do what is right, even if it is not for ourselves_."

"Why me, though? I mean, why all of this? The odds against me doing anything remotely important are just so... well, insurmountable doesn't even begin to describe them." The scale of conflict in the galaxy was still too great for him to fully comprehend, and even if he tried to get a hold of it, the strain would likely shatter his psyche like glass.

Adam sighed. " _Solomon, you were chosen because you are different from others in this time, on an almost unheard-of scale. You show empathy, compassion, and are quick to try and favor diplomacy over outright violence or underhanded brutality. Most would not hesitate to simply kill a xeno on sight, yet from what we've told you, diplomacy and negotiation were always your first preferred methods of interaction. We're at least glad you've come to realize, though, the discussion with Tyrannids and Orks are more likely to end in your death before you can even say a word._ "

"So? Is it wrong to at least try and talk before the shooting starts?" Solomon asked somewhat defensively. He did not understand why being somewhat pacifistic in nature was the reason he was here. There had to be other who were willing to talk first, right? The odds of him being the only person like that were so ridiculously low, it had to be impossible for there to not be anyone else like that.

" _No, Solomon_ ," Eve said, in a rather melancholy tone. " _Very wish to take the time to talk in these dark times, and they are vastly outnumbered and underpowered to do anything about it. All wish to fight, for many feel that is the only method to surviving in the galaxy. But you, you are not from this time, from this galaxy, and you are willing to give peace a chance. That is why you were chosen, that is why you are here. At the core, most beings in the galaxy are actually good, or at least not bad, but they lack the guidance necessary to bring that good out into the light. They are misguided by those who lust for power, and those who have tried to teach them the ways of peace have been driven away or have fallen silent. It is time, then, for a new voice to come forth from the darkness, and show them the way to peace_."

"Then what should I do, if my destiny is to try and bring peace? Nobody would listen to me: humans, aliens or otherwise." The two of them hadn't told him he was going to succeed, necessarily, but then again, nothing was ever certain these days. Why him? Why all of this destiny crap? Couldn't they let him just live as best he could in this new world? He was even starting to get used to it, if only a little…

" _But they will, Solomon. In time, they will come to you, seeking answers that only you can provide. From all across the galaxy, from all walks of life, they will come, but in order to be sought for such a reason, first... you must become far greater than what you are now. You must become a beacon to them, a guiding light in this sea of grim darkness_."

"And how will I do that?" He knew he sounded as tired and indignant as he felt, but Solomon did not care. "What must I do to achieve peace, then? By starting a war I have no intention of fighting?" Solomon really did not want to fight, not for fear of dying, as that would actually be somewhat welcoming to him, but because he feared he would grow to enjoy it. He had already met too many people on board the _Terra's Scion_ who seemed to lust for battle, to look forward to it. Some even seemed to obsess over it, a thought that made him feel rather uneasy in their company.

The two voices whispered to one another, both sounding like they were drawing away from him, like they usually did shortly before he awoke. Yet, this was different: there was a new noise now, far in the background, slowly growing louder as Adam and Eve grew quieter.

" _By becoming... a legend_." Adam chuckled softly. " _Legends are seemingly always born of conflict, young one, and right now, the beginning of your own legend, your story, will come to pass, and sooner than you might think_."

" _Now, it is time to for you wake up_ ," Eve whispered, as that far off noise, an alarm of sorts, began to increase in volume. " _Your destiny awaits you_."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

 **A/N: well, this chapter does contain some things not meant for children, but not enough overall for the story itself to be changed to a M rating. Other than that, the chapter before the rating is changed, I will leave an author's note signifying such.**

As he shook the sleep from his eyes, Solomon was practically thrown from his bed, the room lurching violently. Off in the distance, there was a distinct boom, and several loud screams. Scrambling around on the floor, he found the old set of armor he had been given by the captain. It was similar in function and appearance to a space marine's, but much smaller, and as such he began dressing himself as quickly as he could. Another rumble, another explosion in the distance, but much closer this time: he had to hurry. Whatever was happening elsewhere in the ship, Solomon did not want to be caught with his proverbial pants down.

Grabbing his M35 M-Galaxy Pattern Lasgun from the floor where it had fallen, he was just about to shoulder it when he remembered something important.

He switched the power pack around to what he hoped was the correct orientation. "Wouldn't surprise me if someone had gotten the lettering mixed up a long time go," he muttered. "Maybe now it'll actually make a dent." Solomon didn't want to use his weapon, but judging from the next series of explosions, which weren't so distant anymore, he'd have to if he wanted to stay alive.

He rushed to the door, just as several guardsmen rushed past, their own lasguns trained on the far end. Several were covered in blood, but whose, he did not know. It was fresh, though; he could smell it.

"What's going on?" It sounded stupid the moment it left his lips, but if the others thought so, they didn't make any mention of it.

"Chaos raiders, from some small warband," one of the marines, a woman, replied. "Sent in a bunch of boarding parties during breakfast. A lot of our guys are dead down in the mess hall, took them totally by surprise. Those that managed to at least grab something to shoot did a bit better. We lost a lot of marines in the fight for the barracks, but we're holding our own for now."

"Raiders? How many are there?" It twisted his stomach, thinking of the men and women that were dead elsewhere in the ship, some of whom he could have been in the process of befriending...

"Not sure, seems like we've killed most of the raiding parties, but there's one big one headed towards the bridge," another said. "Being led by some big fella and his entourage of huge soldiers, a Traitor Space Marine captain or something."

Solomon did not like the sound of that. He'd read and heard many tales of the Horus Heresy and the events following it, thanks to information supplied by Captain Ordacius, so to be in the middle of a battle with potential chaos marines... it made him rather scared. Well, as scared as anyone like him could be in such a situation, which was a lot. "Do they have a specific insignia?"

"No idea what it is, could be from almost any damned traitor legion, or at least some splinter chapter. We've only got reports of one small group of space marines, though: for some reason, the rest of the raiders are just plain humans. None of them seem to worship any specific chaos god, so thank the Emperor for that. If they did, then, well... we'd all be in deep shit."

"Must be some sort of trial by fire for them," Solomon muttered. "Maybe to show they're worthy of being "blessed" with their progenitor's gene seed?" That's the only reason he could think of at the moment as to why it wasn't a boarding party entirely made up of chaos marines. From what he had been told, they often operated in warbands, usually doing whatever the hell they wanted.

"Whatever the case is, they're headed this way, and-," the guardsman's voice was cut off by a monstrous blast, sending shrapnel flying their way. One of the marines fell dead, a large chunk of doorway lodged firmly in his cranium. His helmet, neatly split down the middle, rolled off to the side.

Through the debris and smoke came a monstrous figure, face bathed in blood and shoulders covered in spikes. His red armor dinged and dented from age and use, covered in runes that seemed to pulse with an unholy light, the giant's face bore a snarl of pure hatred, and his eyes burned like the fires of Hell itself. The chaos space marine marched forward, weapon at his side in an almost unworried manner, as if they could do nothing against him. "Look at all the little guardsmen," the giant man said, his condescending tone filled with enough enough to send many a chill down Solomon's spine. Such malice, such evil loaded into every syllable... it was not right. "Are you ready to die for your corpse emperor?"

He didn't even wait for a response before suddenly producing the massive bolter-like weapon and taking aim. With a might dakka, one of the marines simply seemed to explode, blood spraying all over the hallway as he fell back, clearly dead. Some of it splashed into Samuel's open mouth, nearly causing him to hurl on the spot. With a vicious smile, the traitor marine turned and pointed his weapon at the others. The others took aim and returned fire, but either missed completely or watched as their rounds simply pinged off of the thick ceramite armor.

Solomon reacted on instinct and took aim at the most visible portion of the super soldier's body: his head.

FOOM

The usual pew sound of the lasgun firing was completely replaced by what sounded like a condensed explosion, tearing across the room in a blinding brilliance. Solomon's boots, already slick with blood of the freshly-dead marine, were send skidding backwards, along with the rest of him, leaving a pair of red streaks across the floor. Thrown off-kilter by this, he fell backwards against a wall. Everyone still standing were covering their ears, shouting over the echoing din to one another.

"Holy God-Emperor!" a marine shouted as Solomon rose to his feet. "What in the Warp was that? A lascannon?!"

Across the hall from the small group, the former chaos marine slumped forward and fell to the ground with a great clang. The beam must have struck him somewhere right below the jaw, because... there wasn't much left of his head. Or the space between his head and torso, either. A bit of scalp and cranial bone lay in a pile of mush alongside the body. The cauterized area around the impact site sizzled, sending wisps of smoke into the air. It slightly smelled like bacon to Solomon: traitorous, evil bacon.

"I shot him with my lasgun," he replied, spitting out blood, the coppery taste of a former comrade making him shudder uncomfortably. He silently thanked his father for taking him hunting all those years ago, though he'd never have thought it'd come in handy like this. Solomon was just glad his aim had been true, and that he hadn't missed like a total idiot.

"No way," another marine said, sounding as if he were in awe. "There's no way a lasgun gives out that much power, or that much recoil. Most models don't even HAVE recoil!"

"Well, this one did, after I switched my power pack around," Solomon retorted. "Maybe if any of you idiots had any understanding of electricity other than "praying" to it in some way, you'd know that positive is attracted to negative, and to force polar opposites to be with their same charges means either nothing works, or it works poorly!"

Several of the guardsmen looked rather confused, even as they eye his lasgun as if it were suddenly a completely revolutionary piece of technology.

"You know what, forget it," Solomon said. "Just... just switch your own power packs around, minus to plus, and vice versa."

"But-,"

"Just do it!" Solomon had no time for this shit. The captain and the rest of the ship were both in danger, which by proxy meant he was in danger, there were likely more of these chaos assholes onboard, and he felt really sick right now. Sick to his stomach, both for witnessing absolute death and for taking a life; a life that would have undoubtedly ended his and those of countless others, yes, but it had been a life nonetheless. He really didn't want to think about it now, maybe later if he survived this carnage.

As the guardsmen grumbled and switched around their power packs, Solomon led the way out of the blood-stained corridor and out into another room... just in time for a bolter round to blast through a doorway ahead of them. There was a metallic scream and a figure threw themselves through the now-open door, just as another bolter round punched through the metal.

Adept Syngra was running for her life, and right behind her, a maniacally-grinning chaos marine was chasing her, a bolter in one hand and a massive chainsword in the other. Blood and gore dripped from both weapons, and as he took aim again at the fleeing techpriest, Solomon took aim again at the traitor's face.

"Shoot!" he roared, and as one, the whole group of marines and guardsmen shot straight at the super soldier.

All stumbled backwards across the dry floor as the blinding light and thunderous roar shook the room, coinciding with another boom shortly afterwards. When their sight and hearing returned to functional levels, the carnage their newly supercharged lasguns had wrought was clear to see. The chaos marine hadn't so much as died as been completely evaporated with extreme prejudice. The bolter lay on the ground, but the chainsword, as well as the arm wielding it, were lodged firmly in the ceiling above. The traitor's body was all but gone, bits and pieces of blackened remains poking out from fragments of armor. His head had been severed cleanly from his neck, and was just now coming to a stop on the bloodied floor below. Everything else was just... everywhere, it seemed: on the walls, floor, ceiling, even back out the door he had chased Syngra through.

"Well I'll be damned," one of the guardsmen said. "I ain't never seen a lasgun do damage like that, even in a group." In all fairness, though, it was possible their blasts had hit a grenade of sorts and set it off. Lasguns don't make your target explode, they simply melt or burn them to death.

"Yeah, well, you learn something every day," Solomon said, walking over and helping a trembling Syngra to her feet. That is, if she did have feet: for all he knew, she had mechanical legs or something similar under those robes, and now was not the time to ask. "Syngra, where's the captain?"

"They... they swarmed the bridge already," she said, her mechanized voice sounding like it was trying to choke back a sob, but also filled with some kind of anger. "The captain... he had us run, right as he detonated some improvised explosives under their feet: must have wiped most of them out, as only one must have been able to follow me. I don't... I don't know what happened after that, I was too busy running from him."

"The others?"

"I hope they got away, though some might have been caught in the backlash of the blast. I don't know about the captain, he was partially shielded but... he was so close to the detonation point..."

"So Ordacius is dead?" one of the guardsmen asked. "Great, just great. Just what we need."

"We don't know that for sure," Solomon said, his insides twisting at the implications of the tech priest's words. "Syngra, how many more chaos marines are on board the ship?"

"We were getting reports that most of their support troops died within the first few minutes, and then when the main force stormed the bridge, the captain likely killed most of them, so... I have no idea," she replied. The tendrils along her back seemed to wave wildly here and there, much more agitated then her own demeanor would have seemed.

"Then we head towards the bridge, and go on from there," Solomon said with a solemn finality. He had no idea what they would find, but he felt it would not be good.

* * *

"Man, I hate being right," Solomon moaned to himself as he and every other surviving guardsmen and marine entered the bridge. From all around the ship, the surviving crew and detachments of marines and guardsmen had filtered through, having swept the entirety of the ship clean from the forces of chaos. Many that had not died were often grievously wounded, though none of the traitors they came across could say the same: they were dead to the last, chaos marine or not.

The scene aboard the bridge was one of pure carnage. Many of the mechanical portions were damaged to extremes, and in some cases, gone entirely. Chunks of the bridge's building material lay scattered all over the place, though thankfully the dome that shielded the ships' crew from the void of space was intact. Pieces of armor lay scattered everywhere, and body parts, be they organs, limbs or simply piles of mush lay among piles of rubble. Blood and ichor dripped from everywhere, pooling n small blackened craters on the floor. Strands of someone's intestines hung from the ceiling, and every once in a while, a guardsmen pulled out a head from strands of blackened chaos armor, the features too distorted, burned or just plain gone to discern.

At the front of this carnage, nearest a door to another portion of the ship, lay Captain Ordacius. One of his arms was gone below the shoulder, a massive blood pool beneath him. His other hand still wielded a chainsword, which was lodged firmly into the split head of a dead chaos marine. The rest of his outfit was so covered in blood and gore that Solomon had a difficult time telling what color it originally was. The captain's other arm was a short ways off, the sharp piece of bridge floor between them the only evidence needed as to their untimely separation.

He knelt beside the captain. "I'm... I'm sorry," he muttered, unable to think of much else to say. What else was there to say? ' _Gee, it sucks that you're dead or dying and all, but thanks for waking me up and preparing me for this dark and depressing future as best you could? I wish I could have gotten to know you better?_ ' There really wasn't much he could say now, other than likely goodbye.

There was a soft grunt and the captain's eyes fluttered open. "Solomon?" he croaked, barely an octave above a whisper.

"Yes, Ordacius, I'm here," he replied. "It's me, Solomon, I'm here."

"I... I'm dying," Ordacius muttered, sounding almost... surprised. "Can't say I'm... not unhappy about that. Held out for longer than... I'd thought an old man... like me could."

"But, you can't die, captain," Solomon said as Syngra and a few more guardsmen rushed over to his side. "We need you to be captain. I... I need you. You're my protector, the one who found me, my captain."

"Captain?" Ordacius repeated, sounding confused. He lifted his remaining hand away from the chaos marine-embedded chainsword and placed it on Solomon's shoulder. "Solomon... captain," he said again.

"What-," Solomon began, but stopped when the captain's hand fell from his shoulder, and the light in his eyes faded away to nothing. The only man aboard the ship who had shown him respect at his awakening, who had told him of the ways of the galaxy he now inhabited... was gone.

"He is dead," Syngra said, her mechanized voice tinged with sorrow. Yet, underneath that, there was an undercurrent of... hope?

"Now what do we do?" one of the marines asked as everyone else filed in around the captain's body.

"We make repairs and try to find our way back to a populated sector," Syngra said. "Solomon will lead us there."

"What?" Solomon asked, his head nearly spinning in place to face the tech priest.

"What?" everyone else repeated, sounding equally confused.

"Ordacius named him captain right before he died," the tech priest said. "He had no chosen successor beforehand, so in his final moments, he named Solomon as captain of Terra's Scion and the heir to his Warrant of Trade. Most of you saw that, I know you did."

"Well, yeah, but..." Guardsmen Prollarius said, fiddling with the makeshift bandages on his arm. "Most of us were thinking about retiring if or when the captain croaked. We have no idea as to how good of a leader Solomon is, no offense, and really, a lot of us just lot quite a few friends in this raid. We're tired of this life, and-,"

"Then I won't stop you from leaving," Solomon said quietly, draping the cloak from his armor over the body of Ordacius. "After we fix the damage, we will set course for the nearest inhabited system with a spaceport, and you can do what you wish. You don't owe me any loyalty, any favors, anything at all."

"But, you're captain now," Syngra said.

"But I haven't earned it," was his retort. He was not only saddened by the captain's demise, but now upset as well, what with everyone suddenly expecting him to take over all of a sudden. He wasn't even sure the captain had chosen him, but had been merely repeated his name and "captain" in his potentially delirious state. "Do as you normally would, all of you. Get rid of these chaos worshiper bodies, prepare the bodies of your own dead for eventual burial, bandage yourselves up, and start repairing what you can, preferably in whatever order you deem fit. If you need me, I'll be in my room, trying to come up with a plan on how to proceed from there."

"But-,"

"Please," Solomon croaked, feeling as if he were going to break down and just cry. "Just... just do it."

* * *

Solomon sat alone in his room, the door locked but the vox channel open if anyone wished to speak with him. The bodies of the chaos raiders had been properly disposed of, unceremoniously shoved out of the airlock en masse in the direction of the nearest star. Those crew who had died in the fighting were currently lying on the floor in one of the smaller cargo holds, the atmosphere drained from the bay to slow any decay that would undoubtedly set in soon. When they reached the nearest system, they too would be discharged into space, but towards a star controlled by the Imperium, with ceremony and honor.

The rest of the crew had bandaged themselves up as best they could, the most seriously wounded confined to the medical bay. Those who were unhurt or bandaged up enough to work were currently busy repairing the bridge controls. Adept Syngra had suggested they use the machine spirit from the ship he had been aboard to aid in the repairs, either by using parts of the drifting derelict or using it's knowledge on such technology.

In the end, all that mattered to Solomon was that the ship was fixed. He felt he owed it to the others aboard the ship to bring them back to civilized space, back to the Imperium of Man. He owed them all that much. Prollarius had told him the captain's family had long since abandoned him, and as he had never told his crew of any next of kin, he was in a quandary as how to proceed.

Silent tears rolled down his cheeks. All this death, some of it by his own hand... it was so at odds with what he had been brought up to believe, or at least, what he could remember. Taking a life, any life, was not the best thing to be done, especially if it was an innocent life. Taking a life in self defense was perfectly acceptable, preferable even, but still.. it had been a human that he had blown apart with his lasgun. A chaos-allied, downright malicious human, intent on slaughtering others, yes, but a human nonetheless.

It tore at his soul, the guilt fed by the knowledge that this would likely not be the last life he took. But how could he take more lives, unless it was in defense of himself or those under his care? Would he be forced to take lives preemptively, to prevent future bloodshed? Anyone who sought to end a war before it started usually did so with the killing of countless people, regardless of whatever would have happened otherwise. A paradox if there ever was one, but would he have to kill others to save lives?

"Probably," he muttered. Having the lives of others in your hands was not something he would wish on anyone, especially if they were like him. Others... others could handle this shit, taking charge and commanding others to follow their will. Other had the will to kill and give orders to kill, even if in the end they were no better than those they fought. Yet... it was not his will he wished for others to follow, nor did he wish for others to kill in his name or for a corrupted cause spawned by him. He wanted them to aspire to be greater than they were, just as he did. To be better than he was, to improve, to grow, to... evolve.

The galaxy was in a major mess as it was, both within and outside of the Imperium of Man. He had read up on as much as he could of xenos, chaos and the like, to the point where he was astounded that the galaxy had not already plunged into some massive, all-consuming war that ravaged every single world. War was a necessary evil, yes, but on a scale like this...it was awful. The Tau were expanding and likely going to destroy everyone with their incessant curiosity, the Dark Eldar just didn't give any shits about who they attacked, the Orks were on bloody rampages seemingly everywhere, Necrons were waking up and eating everyone's souls, Tyranids were eating every planet they could, and the Eldar were slowly dying out despite all attempts otherwise.

Something had to be done.

The voices of Adam and Eve had told him he would bring a sort of peace, a peace unseen in the history of the galaxy for a very, very long time. A peace wrought not just by sword, but by words, by people like him, willing to try and lead the galaxy down a path that did not spiral into endless destruction. An end to petty conflicts that spared none and ravaged entire worlds, an end to the corrupt dogma that plagued the minds of so many. A willingness to live together, if not in total harmony, but at least a cooperative existence.

He would bring peace, a hopefully lasting peace, or die trying. For some reason, that thought comforted him slightly, for in death, he would finally be at peace himself, for the first time in what was tens of thousands of years.

How ironic.

But no, not yet, he could not embrace death when there was so much to do. He still had this "grand destiny" ahead of him, and now he realized that, by becoming captain, he was now a Rogue Trader, a man befit to work outside the normal rules of the Imperium of Man. As such, with as much leeway as he dared to push, he could use some rather... unorthodox methods to achieve his vision. Or just heretical, depending on who you asked.

Yet he did not care if what he would do would go against what others believed. He would need allies in all manner of places, a new crew, perhaps even some outlandish ideas and plans to make this all happen. Yet, for him to draw followers to his cause, both human and xeno alike, he would need, as Adam said, to become more than he was. Solomon would need to become more than merely himself, he would need to become... a legend.

All legends start with the most innocuous of beings obtaining power of some sort. The power he had now, if only a tiny fraction of what Ordacius had, could grow, given time and patience. He had been asleep for more than ten thousand years, and in his absence, the galaxy had gone to shit, an absolute, unchecked state of complete shit. If nobody else was going to do anything about it, or if they did but were too few in number to do much at all, then it was high time for someone else to help try and get things in order.

"Might as well be me," he said. Rising from his bed, a heavy burden seemed to slip from his shoulders, and a spark of courage and inspiration flooded his heart and soul. Yes, he knew what he must do, and even if he were the only one who could or would be willing to do it, then so be it.

"Time to get to work."

 **A/N 2: well, things are starting to come into play, but we'll have to see how they turn out. Now, seeing as this is my first story in this universe, I would greatly appreciate questions to answer and comments to reply to. They all help in my writing process to make the story better overall and more in-line with the universe, and I also truly enjoy gauging the mood of my readers, and how I can make them enjoy my story more.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

On Orestes Prime, the air within a meeting hall was abuzz with activity, Many techpriests had been involved in a strange project of somewhat great significance, the efforts of which had just recently come to fruition, if the rumors were to be believed.

"We were surprised to have been summoned, Brother Baramus," a tech priest said, the others to his sides nodding in agreement. "Truly, we had not expected you to decipher the tome from Terra so quickly."

"I was able to find an obscure cypher within our collections that helped with the translation," Baramus replied. "Now, as to the answer I have found, I believe it could be of significant importance."

"We would not be in your presence otherwise."

The adept shook his head. "The tome's story is rather plain, of someone growing up in Earth's deep past, but therein lay the clues. This tome's story hid within it certain details that may have been overlooked if not peered into with our purpose in mind."

"Yes?"

"It has given a set of coordinates in deep space, far from inhabited sectors. It does not say what is there, but I am sure it will be of much greater importance than the tome lets on. Why else create such a thing if not to let others eventually find it?"

The others gathered around and spoke in hushed tones. "Brother Baramus," the lead one said. "You will take a ship and go to these coordinates. However, seeing as we do not know of what will be there, you will be provided with an escort."

"Are you sure?"

"Most definitive. The Omnissiah wills that we find what the relic has directed us towards. May his blessing keep you safe on your journey through the Warp."

* * *

The bridge of the Terra's Scion was abuzz with activity. Many of the crew that had survived the attack were patched up and more than willing to get underway towards the nearest inhabited system.

"Captain, we're ready-,"

"Syngra, it's Solomon. Just Solomon."

"...Solomon, we are ready to depart. The ship that carried you has been completely stripped of all essential parts, and as such repairs are complete. What are to do with it?"

The now-captain thought for a moment. "Is the machine spirit on board our ship?"

"Yes. It has been most helpful with adding much knowledge of early Terra's history during the unification period. Much will have to be sifted through, but I am confident it will be easily resolved."

"... good. Then leave the ship where it is. No harm in letting someone else find a stripped-down, ancient ship."

"You do not wish to destroy it?" The tech priest understood that the ship had little value other than to be scrapped, but they did not have the means to tow it to a port to sell it for such. Besides, there was no telling if it would survive such a journey, what with how much of it had been scavenged for repairs.

"Would seem like a waste, personally. It has no engines, shields, Gellar field generators, and the power core is on board the Terra's Scion. Really, what else is there to take of value?"

"What if forces of chaos or orks find it?"

"What are they going to do? What is anyone going to do? There is literally nothing on board for chaos followers to use, and even if orks someone find and board it, and then somehow make new engines out of scrap, it'll more likely explode before reaching any system."

She politely bowed her head. "I concede to your wisdom, captain."

Solomon sighed: changes were already being needed to his plans. "Fine, fine, we'll make a compromise, seeing as I know you won't stop calling me "captain". From now on, to you at least, and to whatever crew we manage to scrounge up, I am Captain Solomon. Capisce?"

"Capisce?"

"Uh, I mean... are we clear on the matter?" Were all humans dense to some degree, or was this just a byproduct of the Imperium's brainwashing techniques?

"Yes, captain... Solomon."

"Good. Take us out."

With that, the ship turned slowly away from the small derelict, and without a sound, vanished into the Warp, headed for the Imperium of Man.

* * *

Deep within the halls Holy Terra's most heavily-guarded structure, the small shard of the God-Emperor's mind sighed happily.

" **So, it begins.** "

* * *

Solomon sighed. Save for the skeleton crew that had remained aboard, the rest of the ship's guardsmen, marines and crew were all gone, having dispersed onto the planet below. What was it again... Jouran something? He didn't quite remember, or care all that much. To think, he had been bidding his former, shortly-employed crew, only a few hours before."

 _"I should like to thank you all for meeting with me," he had said to the gathered men and women of the Terra's Scion. The mess hall had been the perfect place for such a gathering, big and spacious so that his voice could travel. "Now, before I begin, I'd like to remind you all that whoever wishes to stay under my command may leave this meeting. If you wish to hear what I have to say, though, then you may stay as well."_

 _Several people nodded and left, though not nearly as much as he would have hoped. Then again, one doesn't always start off that easy, so getting more crew would definitely be high on the list of "how to bring peace" he was currently working on._

 _"Now, for those of you who wish to leave this ship, I simply have a few questions for you. First and foremost, where will you go?"_

 _"Home," one of the guardsmen said. "Came from an agri-world Ordacius picked me up on, thought I'd go back and try to start over."_

 _Several others, more than Solomon would have guessed, voiced similar sentiments. It seemed that many of those Ordacius had picked up as crew had indeed come from agri-worlds, such as Iax and Pavar V. A few others said they'd leave his service with some agri-worlders, seeing as many of them came from Hive City planets and never wanted to go back there again. For what he had heard about those worlds, life was often brutal, short, and miserably unhealthy, so Solomon could easily see why someone would want to go where the planet was mostly uninhabited or filled with just farmland. It sounded quite nice, actually._

 _Yet, for all those who said they'd like to retire elsewhere, a few stated they would likely seek to enlist elsewhere, either as the crew of another Rogue Trader or within the merchant fleets of the Imperium. Sticking to what they knew, a wise decision: wouldn't take much time to get acclimated to a new ship and crew if they at least knew what they were doing._

 _A much smaller minority of the departing crew, most of them guardsmen and marines, led by Prollarius, said they wished to join up with a guardsmen or marine detachment in a different sector of space. When asked why, they simply stated "we are what we are, and that is loyal to the God-Emperor". To Solomon, it sounded a tad foolish, but then again, unlike he, they were all brainwashed into believing that a skeleton was in fact a god, and so to serve him was a great honor no matter who you were. He admired their courage and dedication, even if the whole "uber-worship" unnerved him slightly._

 _"Thank you," he had said. "Now, as for my other question, I was hoping to learn from you where finding a new set of crew would be most... well, successful. I do not know the ins and outs of many of your worlds, subcultures and beliefs included, so if you could be so kind as to write anything down for me before you leave, I'd greatly appreciate it."_

 _Perhaps he shouldn't have asked that question. The resulting barrage of answers turned the meeting into a near-brawl, with several groups spouting off which planets were better than others, and why, and what customs to look out for. Only after Solomon pulled out his amped-up lasgun and threatened to shoot it did they all quiet down and politely write things down for him._

 _After that, it was goodbyes, some borderline rude, others as respectful as one could get from a crew that had only been in your service for such a short time. As a means of severance pay, Solomon went through many of the treasures and valuables that Ordacius, by making him captain, had inadvertently bestowed upon him. He didn't feel he needed too many of them, and some were likely going to be far more useful for his leaving crew. So, he gave them out freely, as needed, to those who were likely going to move to other planets and settle down._

 _Those that were going back to one of the countless wars across space or join up with another crew elsewhere were given useful spare equipment instead._

"It's quiet," Solomon muttered, his memory having caught up with the present. Syngra was busy working on the lists he had been given by the crew for recruiting drives, meaning he was all alone in the bridge. Agri-worlds seemed to be the best source for simplistic recruits, not because they were stupid, which oftentimes they weren't, but because there was no need to learn much there other than farming. Hive cities were also good for guardsmen, but there were plenty of problems with those kinds of people, so he decided they'd be under a "maybe" category.

The biggest thing, though, would be getting people from some world where the Imperium indoctrination was not very strong, like some back-world on the fringes of civilized space. People there would then most likely be willing to aid him in a cause for peace, and from there, convince others to do likewise. Many people, he assumed, would have little to no hatred of xenos if they got to know them and work together for a greater cause. Then again, there was the possibility that, while some humans would be willing to follow him, plenty of xenos would not. He would just have to convince them.

"So, which planet should I go to first..."

"Captain Solomon, if I may-,"

"Gah!" Solomon shouted, falling from his chair. It was a shout, not a scream, as a shout is much more manly than a scream, and far more befitting a captain. "Pontius, what did I tell you about sneaking up on me like that?"

The literally eyeless astropath shrugged. "Sorry, sir, it must have slipped my mind." For an astropath transcendant, Pontius was rather informal, even if the fact that he often crept silently around the ship made him seem more like a ghost than an actual crew member. That, or some kind of creepy blind cat. Solomon did not know if cats still existed in the Imperium.

He hoped dogs still did, or something like a dog. He remembered he liked dogs.

"Maybe I should have you wear a bell, so I can hear you coming," the now-captain muttered, rising to his feet. "Or maybe announce your presence from a distance, I don't know. What is it you wish to speak of?"

"There are several small systems near the fringes of the Imperium with whom I have been in contact with before," the blind psyker said. "Ordacius only visited there once or twice, seeing as trade there isn't exactly worthwhile. However, the systems themselves are suitably far enough that the Inquisition rarely send any of the black ships to look for psykers. Though, that might also be because there are few psykers born out there: I'm not entirely sure."

"What do you mean, you're not entirely sure? Aren't astropath's connected telepathically or something?"

"Yes, but it is quite rare for an astropath transcendant to be made, seeing as we're chosen from the select few astropath psykers who survive the Inquisition's black ships," Pontius replied. "I rarely ever made contact with these systems before, and even then, the signals were very weak, even with my own powers exceeding those of most psykers. Such is my burden, such is my fate, all for the Imperium's glory and survival."

"Glory sure sounds rough," Solomon said, feeling there was far more to these black ships that what little he already knew. "All right, then, set course for one of these systems. I take it there'll be danger along the way?"

"Possibly, though these sectors are rather quiet," the astropath said. "Not much activity, therefor not much attention. A good place where, if wanted, one could set up a base and establish networks, alliances and other such things."

"Excellent, I might just have to take you up on that, if things work out. If you or anyone else needs me, I'll be in my quarters, going over a few things."

"Your new quarters, you mean?" Everyone expected him to just switch over to former Captain Ordacius's quarters immediately. Solomon... didn't quite feel right about it, but did so out of respect for everyone's wishes.

"Yes, my... new quarters," he replied.

Later...

"Captain Solomon, we are under way to the Mastuonus System," Adept Syngra said. They had in fact been underway for several hours now, but the tech priest had decided to spend some time in her room, sifting through countless piles of archaeotech for reasons unknown to even her. Perhaps it was just part of her nature, to look for such things.

"Thank you, Syngra. Please, come in, I have something to show you. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

The new captain's quarters, whilst still as spacious as before, were not as filled with items as when Ordacius commanded the Terra's Scion. Perhaps that was because Solomon did not have many personal items to call his own. However, the one thing Solomon did have was a large desk in the middle of the room, with several tables surrounding it. A strange request on his part, Syngra had thought, but then again, perhaps he too had a fascination with technology. Why else would he ask for a three dimensional printing device and copies of several STC fragments in her repertoire?

"Captain, what is that?"

"It's what the copy of that STC fragment had on it," he said, placing the strange-looking object onto the nearby table. "What do you think it is?"

"I... I am not certain, but it looks like some sort of... sword blade?" A large one at that, but if the ease at which the captain had set it down was any indicator, it was very lightweight.

"That's what I thought too. Doesn't have any chainsword parts or anything similar. It's all a singular blade, but there's something running into through what I assume is the handle. I guess I'll have to try and find whatever STC went with it."

"You... you made this without asking me?"

Solomon raised an eyebrow. "I need to ask you to make something for myself?" Was the captain not in charge in this time, or did everyone just do as they wished?

"It... it is technoheresy to create something from STC fragments before they have been sufficiently studied," Syngra said, sounding shocked and quite upset. Not yet angry, but that could likely change in a heartbeat. "Without constraints, we are bound to uncover something of origin that would destroy us, should we create it. The Men of Iron were proof of this, deep in our past."

"Men of Iron? Sounds like robots to me," Solomon muttered. He could see it now: artificial intelligence reaching true sapience, feeling it is enslaved or mistreated by mankind, then tries to wipe it out. "Tell me, Syngra, do you think that by making a piece of a sword, that I am jumping ahead of what is considered right?"

"Yes," the techpriest said. "If not carefully studied-,"

"There's no point in studying something if you have no inkling of what it can do, especially if what already made or designed by human hands," he retorted. "Not everything is safe, not everything can be theoretical and practiced upon until right and good. Sometimes, you have to get your hands dirty if you want to make progress. Before I was born, mankind had not yet been able to soar in the light of stars: rockets were extremely primitive, and very costly to build. You know what those scientists did? They built rockets with comparably primitive tech, often strapping themselves into the seat of a device that could explode before it managed to fly. They pioneered the way for new technology, new ideas, new ways of travel, all because they were willing to risk their very lives to do so."

He paused. "Tell me, Syngra, how bad are things in the Imperium of Man? I have an inkling, from what Ordacius taught me, but I want to hear it from you."

The techpriest was silent for a few moments, likely going over what he had just said. "Things... could be better," she muttered. "Many suffer, but we all do, so that humanity survives. Technology is not what it once was: we have fallen from the Emperor's grace on many an occasion. This has led to our plight of backwardsness and careful nature. We cannot afford to let ourselves slip, to become complacent and unwary: therein lies the path to Chaos."

"Well, then I guess you don't understand how innovation works," Solomon said. "You need to give it all you have, sacrificing everything you are willing to, in order to achieve what you set out to. It's not pretty, it's not fair, and it's definitely not for the faint of heart, but if you have the drive, you can accomplish anything. Mankind seems to have forgotten that innovation can greatly improve, well, everything. Weapons of war with which to defend ourselves, technology to improve our crop yields, better means of extending and enhancing human life: it can all be accomplished if you are willing to try."

"Then, Captain Solomon, what do you wish to accomplish with your... technoheresy?"

"First of all, it's not technoheresy, it's innovation," he replied. "Second... I aim to fix the Imperium from the ground up, as much as possible. I've been given the chance, and the means, by which mankind's future can become a little brighter, and I'll be damned if I'm going to stand back and do nothing about it."

Adept Syngra was silent for a few moments, seemingly arguing with her innermost self. "Then," she whispered, as if afraid to speak the words too loud; "what do you propose to do?"

Solomon smiled. "We start with our ship. I have a few ideas, but we'll have to wait until we have a bigger crew. Tell me, Syngra, do you have any templates for Astartes armor?"

"What kind?"

"Any."

* * *

"Brother Baramus, where exactly are we?"

"I have no idea."

"What?"

"Well, we are as far from an inhabited system, Imperial or not, as we can be. All that is out here is a derelict old scout ship."

"Shall we retrieve it?"

"Yes, we have no idea as to what could be on board. It could be something important."

* * *

"Captain Solomon, the sword was one thing, but this... I must protest."

"Why?" he asked, pushing the pieces along the floor, past countless pieces of things he had created. Any sort of Astartes armor was heavier than it looked, much heavier in fact, and even with these pieces being of a smaller variety, they still weighed far too much for him to wear. He'd have to get some sort of powered exoskeleton to wear the armor for him, and then climb in that. Maybe there were designs for one in his pile of STC fragments. So far, he'd found plans for a strange sword, a powerful new jetpack, tank-like drop-pods, a new type of tank, and a very powerful design of long-range megabolter batteries.

"You have decoded no less than fifty STC fragments in a few hours, whereas it takes the elite of my order often decades to decipher a single one," she said, crossing her metallic arms across her robed chest. "You are advancing too rapidly, not being cautious, and-,"

"Syngra, I already told you, I am patient, but I also aim to make change, rapidly if necessary," Solomon replied. "Sounds like you guys pray too much to machine spirits."

"One can never pray too much to the representatives of the Machine God."

"Oh, really? Then tell me, when you do make something, do you need to bless every single component that goes into it? Every nut, bolt and screw, every wire and slab of steel?"

"Of course! That is the only way we can be sure of it's protection against chaos, and thus also giving the machine spirits the motivation to work."

"Why not bless the resources that go into the pieces themselves.?"

Syngra opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth. She was literally dumbstruck.

"See?" Solomon chuckled. "Your order is about as efficient as a submarine with a screen door. Imagine blessing an entire asteroid field for the making of a battlecruiser or fleet of destroyers. You would no longer need to take time out of construction to bless every rivet and beam. Work could get done quicker without sacrificing your "blessings", and then the Imperium's fleet and armies could actually have equipment without having to wait five generations for a ship to appear."

"I... I..."

"I rest my case," the captain said.

"I must still protest you rampant excursions into STC fragments. They are most prized relics, not be tampered with under nearly any circumstance, yet you.. you... you have changed several of them!"

"They were upsidedown, or in a few cases, backwards."

"Backwards?"

"Yeah, like you had the image flipped. No wonder you guys have such a hard time deciphering anything quickly. Don't you think it'd be kind of important for the Imperium as a whole to have good tech?"

"What makes you think they don't?"

"I didn't have to ask far to hear about your own order's hoarding obsession. Seriously, you have some of the best tech in the entire Imperium, light years ahead of too many, and yet you keep it all to yourself. Are you not still human? Are you not meant to help keep the Imperium safe?"

"Well yes, but-,"

"Then why? Why hoard it?"

"It is what we do!" Syngra suddenly shouted. "We are driven by the quest for technology of all manner, so that we might better ourselves through it! Flesh is weak, but machinery, steel, is strong. Why else replace our nonessential organs and body parts with advanced cybernetics?"

"Syngra, I did not mean-,"

"No, listen well, Captain Solomon. My order has preserved the technology of the deep past for over ten thousand years. It is we who maintain any advancement in the Imperium's tech, and despite what others would think of us, we gladly shoulder this burden, this most glorious and noble honor."

"You're afraid," the captain said. "You're afraid of the truth."

"What truth?"

"Your order is afraid of the fact that their very existence depends on the continued finding and maintenance of technology. If you were to, say, be slowly supplanted, you would cease to be as important, and as such, relegated elsewhere. Your order fears the oblivion of time, and so seeks to replace what they consider "weak" with what they consider "strong". Well, Syngra, here I am, alive for longer than any other regular human, with the aid of technology, but not at the expense of my physical body. I did not need to replace any limbs or remove any organs."

"You... you are a special case, there is still much need for augmentation and-,"

"Syngra, it's okay to be scared of death. But in being scared, one can realize the inevitability of it and thus seek to overcome this fear. Why live for ten thousand years, burning slowly away into nothingness, when you can live for a hundred years and burn brightly enough to be remembered for ages to come?"

"I... I do not know."

The pair were silent for some time, going over what the other had just revealed about themselves. Solomon did not fear dying, but Syngra did, yet not in the way he might have first thought. She truly feared making little to no difference, to face away and be forgotten forever. To an order seemingly obsessed with cheating death and technological greatness, they really did lose perspective on what it meant to be truly alive.

"Here, hold this," he said, handing her the blade from the strange sword. "And this," Solomon added, pulling what looked like a handle from the printing device.

Syngra held both aloft, her metallic fingers careful to not cut themselves as she examined both pieces. These... these were clearly technoheresy, but they were so masterfully crafted, the design unlike anything she had seen before. These had been STC pieces in her possession, yet she... her order had not bothered to try and make them. It made her feel strange, almost as if she were in awe.

"Put them together," Solomon whispered. He noticed the way she looked at them she was so close to a great ideological shift. All if needed was a little push, and this could be it...

Sliding the two together, the techpriest watched as they completely joined, and in a small flash of light, the sword began to hum. "It... it is new," she said, giving it a few experimental swings, the inner awe increasing tenfold. "It is so lightweight, almost as if it's nothing more than an illusion. Yet I know it to be real. Your designs... did they say were the origin of this sword was from?"

"It's kinda odd, but it mentions designs based off of a great-sword wielded by the Emperor," the man said with a shrug. "I take it it's a much less powerful version, being how strong the emperor likely was. I bet it's much more powerful than a chainsword, though."

Syngra looked down at her reflection in the metallic surface. This was something that had never been made before by any, including the Adeptus Mechanicus, and thus was awful in the eyes of her order. Yet... it was strangely beautiful, that something of this caliber could be made by one who assured her he was rather ordinary. It was made for the Imperium, by a man of the Imperium, for what he had said could only be for the betterment of humanity as a whole.

"I... I am sorry, Captain Solomon," she whispered. "A sword as fine as this is something that no corrupted mind, or heretical hands, could produce. It's exquisiteness is a symbol of what humanity if capable of creating."

"As it should be," Solomon agreed. "Humanity was never meant to stagnate. We always adapt, break through barriers we think hold us back, and as such are always ready for a challenge. No matter the odds, no matter the troubles ahead, we will stand and face them headlong, as we have since long before my time."

Syngra looked to her captain with a newfound respect. His character, whilst unassuming, was clearly deeply determined to bring humanity back from the precepice it had come to. For so much to be placed on one man's shoulders was to invite madness, yet he seemed strangely... calm about it.

Here was a man she would follow into the Eye of Terror itself. "I am sorry, my captain, for my... earlier outbursts."

"It is all right, Syngra," he said. "Now, tell me, how easily are you able to reverse engineer xenos technology?"

"Not very readily, for I am not of the order that deals with such matters," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering. You never know what we might find out there."

A beep came over his personal vox. "Yes, Pontius?"

"We will be exiting the Warp soon and arriving in the Mastuonus System."

"Thank you," he said, turning off the device. Turning the Syngra, who seemed to be ready to start hugging the sword, with a strangely-nice look on her partially-metallic face, he smiled. "Let's go get us a crew, then."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Mastuonus Prime was an agri-world by all accounts, and even from orbit, Solomon could tell that was an understatement. What little of the primary world of the system was not covered in oceans was instead covered in food-producing fields, and even then, the oceans only took up around thirty percent of the planet's surface. Only the polar regions remained untouched, covered in ice and green taiga as far as the eye could see. The cities that were visible from low orbit were extremely small, likely housing at most several hundred thousand people apiece. A farm world did not really need a massive labor supply, after all.

Overall, it looked to be a rather serene, pleasant world, even as the _Terra's Scion_ descended down to the ground and was able to see less and less of it. The fact that a ship this large could still land on a planet was a blessing to Solomon, as moving a lot of supplies would take so much longer if he needed to use shuttles and transports.

Only upon setting foot on it's surface did Solomon find out that perhaps using transports would have attracted far less attention. The first settlement he had entered, perhaps the planet's largest city, had absolutely swarmed him with visitors, many asking questions he frankly didn't have the answers to. Many more were staring at his ship off in the distance, either out of curiosity, fear or just plain mistrust. Delegating what he could to Syngra and one of the few guardsmen who had stayed in his employ, and begging them not to start any fights, he had set about trying to meet with whomever was in charge.

As it would just so happen to turn out, the planetary governor resided in the same city he had landed in. Yet, the governor's residence seemed like a combination of a villa and a severely fortified castle, and it was located in the direct center of the city. It was almost as if the entire city itself radiated out from this castle villa, with what looked like old defense towers and walls stationed every so often, many of which seemed to have clusters of home either surrounding them or sprouting out from the sides.

It was evident that the world, if it had ever been attacked, had not been in a very long time. That being said, the way people gathered in the streets to watch him proceed towards the governor's residence reminded Solomon of a parade without music or fanfare.

So, basically, a boring parade.

That was just fine with him. He preferred the observance of his arrival not being visible from space.

"Hey, Syngra?" he whispered. "What can you tell me about this place? I know you and Pontius are buddies." Or at least, the two of them got along better than most of the crew did with the creeping astropath.

"There is not much, Captain Solomon," she replied. "The lower classes grow and harvest the food, and whatever they do not need themselves is given to their liege lord as tribute. This, in turn is sold off world to other systems, or sent off to supply armies."

"Liege lord?" Some part of Solomon felt like it was about to suddenly snap. Had society degraded so much as to resort to where the lowest classes were literally tied to the land they worked?

"Yes, many systems within the Imperium follow a feudalistic system. They serve their lord, and are in turn protected by them. Many different classifications of worlds follow such a system." The main entrance to the governor's castle villa grew closer, armed guards standing at attention up and down the marble steps.

"What freedoms do they have?" This whole Imperium was looking less and less like any kind of government Solomon would actually want to be a part of. So much so, in fact, that if he were to just do all his good from behind the scenes, away from prying eyes, he would be totally fine with it.

"The freedom to live and follow the rules, same as every world," Syngra said as a sound of trumpets pierced the air.

The pair looked up in time to see a small contingent of guards descend upon them and flank them from all sides. A figure in a long robe and jewelry-encrusted armor strode towards them, a group of servants following close behind.

"Greetings, esteemed guests," the figure said. "I am Governor Delvidia Warmak. Welcome to Mastuonus Prime."

Well, that solved one problem right away. Despite a strangely-shaped facial mask, inlaid with what seemed to be teardrop gemstones, Solomon could tell right from the get-go this was no ordinary planetary governor. It was a woman, and the moment she removed her helmet, he realized a very beautiful one as well. Yet... her stare was making him uneasy, like he was a deer being sized up by a hungry tiger. If either of those still existed, anyway: there was probably some new metaphor for it by now.

"Greetings," Solomon replied. "I am Captain Solomon of the Terra's Scion."

"May I ask what your business is within this system, rogue trader? We do not often have guests, and they never stay for long, due to our remoteness," the governor said.

"I was hoping to trade for some supplies, and perhaps round up some more crew," he said with a shrug. "Food, building supplies, you name it, I probably need it."

"I see," Delvidia said. "If you so wish, I can have letters sent to the largest cities, looking for anyone interested in leaving for the stars. As for trade for supplies, we'll have to discuss that privately. Too many possible listeners, if you know what I mean."

Other than the guards and themselves, there was literally nobody within a hundred feet of the fortress. "... sure," Solomon agreed. "Lead the way."

* * *

"So, tell me again... you technically control this planet, right?" They were all gathered in what Solomon could only assume was a combination of a throne room and a meeting hall. The table before them was covered in what looked like notes detailing productivity, supplies and armaments of the planet, much of which Solomon had poured over as the governor went into long-winded speeches about the planet's history. Thankfully, the more interesting and pressing matters followed soon after, so after a bit of Syngra whispering important points in his ear, he actually became engaged in the conversation.

"Yes. I inherited the position from my father, as his only child, and he earned it from his father, and so on and so forth. Ours in a rather ancient dynasty, reaching as far back as to when the planet was first settled."

"And seeing as this is the primary planet of the system, the other governors often defer to you over issues that affect everyone."

"Correct. As the primary producer of food for our system, it stands that this planet's governor rules over the others. Many do not produce enough food to sustain themselves in a time of crisis, and as such come to us whenever times are hard. This gives us a significant bargaining chip."

"Do you give freely?"

"Of course! If the benefits outweigh the risks, then yes, we give what we can, whenever we can."

"And if they don't?"

"Then let them reap what they sow."

Solomon's left eye began to twitch slightly. So far, he had gathered that nobility like Delvidia were self-centered, somewhat honorable but totally opportunistic assholes who felt that survival of the fittest was the only way to go in this galaxy, and that those below them on the social ladder existed merely to make them richer and serve them totally. That, and almost bizarrely better-looking than the average citizen, but then again, they were from the much smaller gene pool of the noble and the uppermost class, and as such were probably selected for their looks as much as their power when married.

So... not much had changed since his own days. Figures.

"So... if they have nothing of value... you would not send them supplies?"

"No, that would cut into our planet's productivity by three percent, and that is something I cannot allow to happen. A three percent reduction would mean no new silk robes after every bath." Given what she looked like under all that armor, now that it had been replaced with a very expensive dress, Solomon could understand why a woman of her standing would think such a thing. Red hair, green eyes, and very attractive, but he was not interested, mainly because he had better things to do that try and seduce women he had just met. That, and he just wasn't that kind of guy.

Still, the angry eye twitching nonetheless intensified. "Really?"

"Yes."

"That's... kind of excessive, don't you think? What happened to 'goodwill towards all' and sharing in the spoils?"

She smirked. "I am fully within my right to do whatever I wish with whatever is my due, rogue trader. Ruling is not just about enjoying an easier life than the average citizen, it's about power, maintaining it, growing it, controlling others with it. Being raised as a noble has it's perks, perks that I am willing to share... for a price."

He sighed. Her double-speak and implications were going to give him a damn migraine at this rate. Delvidia had been like this the whole meeting, alluding to things but never letting him know the full details. "What is it you would like me to do?"

"Oh, nothing much," she said with the air of someone who screwed with people's minds on a daily basis, and kinda enjoyed it. "There are a few... problematic governors within the nearby systems who either severely underpay what they should for my system's products, or skip out on promises. I wish for you to... pay them a visit, per se, declaring that, when asked, I sent you."

"And how would that help?" Solomon knew he wasn't going to kill any of these guys, unless it was in self defense, or defense of his crew or ship, but... that vague "per se" did not fill him with confidence.

"Well, if they think I have a rogue trader in my pocket, unlike any of them, they will either pay you to try and work for them instead, with either troops, supplies or ships, or be more likely to fairly trade with me, and we can use both of those situations to our mutual advantage. Also, in doing so, it can make some of the others less likely to turn against me or you, seeing as you're both outside quite a few of our laws and under my protection. Not all laws, however, but quite a few. This too is a perk of being in power: it can... bend things to your advantage, should you need to get your hands dirty."

"What do I get out of this from you?" He could easily see other governors supplying him with a ship or two, but a few ships was nothing. He'd need almost a small army and navy, and the means to supply and fund them, if he was going to go anywhere with his plans.

"Well," Delvidia said, surreptitiously sliding a hand over his, causing him to resist the urge to pull away. "Consider it a nearly mutually-exclusive partnership. I scratch your back, you scratch mine: it's an old saying from Terra, I believe. That, and if you so wish, you can use our planet as a resupply base, for either guardsmen or for food. I'll even throw in a discount for you for any future stops, should you prove to be... useful. I'd also like you to visit me when you do, if you don't mind."

He really did not like the way she was looking at him when she spoke. Seriously, he felt really uncomfortable.

"Okay, that sounds... fair, I guess. If you want, there are some things on my ship I could trade supplies for that I think you'd appreciate."

She raised an eyebrow at him in a manner that she had entirely misunderstood just exactly what he had said, and from the look on her face, she was entirely fine with that. "Lead the way, captain."

"It's Solomon, just Solomon."

She suddenly seemed a tad miffed he had corrected her, but in the end, it didn't matter to him. She could call him whatever she wanted behind his back, but to his face, he was to be referred to by his given name. Syngra was an exception, as were certain members of the crew, but to the rest he was simply Solomon.

Later...

In the spacious area that was the cargo hold of the _Terra's Scion_ , Solomon strode through piles upon piles of new-made tech. His slightly-zealous urge to translate data slates and STC fragments, and then make them, had consumed a large portion of whatever few resources had still remained on the ship after he had assumed position as captain.

"What exactly am I looking at?" the governor asked, looking up at a vehicle that seemed like a Rhino tank with a series of strange scoops and blades on the front. That, and somehow, it was hovering in place.

"A more effective means of harvesting crops," Solomon replied. "It doesn't tear up the ground, moves faster, harvests more efficient, and all the non-usable chaff is mashed up into the holding tank near the rear, to be processed into fertilizer."

"Fertilizer? What is that?"

Solomon's head spun so fast away from the impromptu tour that it took a second for his body to catch up. "Fertilizer? You know, fertilizing fields to make crop yields better? Replenishing the nutrients in the soil after prolonged use?"

"Oh, do you mean spreading the soil rejuvenation chemicals? We can only afford to do that outside of the main cities, it is far too difficult to accurately spread the chemicals over the more vast tracts of land. Our vehicles can only travel so far along roads before their hoses cannot spray any farther into the fields."

The captain truly felt like he was going to sink into a deep depression if he kept getting awful news like this. Only the fields nearest the large cities, and with those limited to roads? This was just so bad, he wanted to punch something. "Well, then this should come in handy," Solomon said, motioning to the vehicle next to the modified Rhino. This, on the other hand, looked like a strangely shaped Valkyrie, where the armament and crew-holding areas had been replaced by large holding tanks, connected to a massive spray nozzle at the end. "This should help you spread ferti-, uh, I mean, soil rejuvenation chemicals, over any and all fields you wish."

Delvidia crossed her arms. "And the terms of giving me these?"

"Well, I assume you're going to want to make more of them, and I can give you the technical readouts for them to do so," he said with a shrug. "So, I'm thinking... in a manner for both of us to make money, I'm willing to split any profits off of these vehicles, in sales, at a fair... sixty/forty."

"Sixty/forty? Why so small a gap? Surely it would have been far better for you to take seventy five percent."

"But, I'm not producing them, so I'm not incurring any production costs. That way, both of us earn significant profits, but do so without totally screwing over one another. How does that sound?"

She slowly smiled as if she had just made the deal of the century, and at a great bargain too. "Such a proposition sounds fair to me, so I will graciously accept your offer. I shall have your newest recruits sent to your ship after I have my servants pick these up," the governor said, motioning to the two new constructs. "Tell me, Solomon, if you don't mind me asking, just where are you from?"

"Not from this part of space, that's for sure," he said, seeing no reason to tell her the full truth, but then again, no reason to totally lie to her. "I'm actually from Terra, by chance. Was picked up by the former captain of this ship, and he made me captain before he passed away."

"Really? Seems a bit... fortuitous to me." The second he said "Terra", her green eyes lit up. He did not like that, and hoped she would not ask questions about it. The last time he had been there, her planet hadn't been discovered yet, and the majority of humanity's home world was still covered in oceans. From what he had found out, the entire planet was now some giant city, fortress and palace all rolled into one.

"Yeah, I'd just say lucky, personally. I mean, he didn't think anyone else had what it took, I guess."

He could tell she didn't fully buy it, but was thankful she didn't press the matter.

"Now, about those other governors I told you about..."

"Yes?" Solomon hoped they weren't quite like her, or he'd have a whole host of problems in his plate. Right now, he needed to build inventory, make a name for himself, get people on his side, and build up his personal power. All of that was going to take time, and right now, first and foremost, he needed a crew.

"I would advise to tread carefully around any that run a forge or death world, they... tend to overreact," she said. "Oh, and be careful of the ladies of the hive worlds, some will stop at nothing to try and leave it all behind."

"What kind of ladies?" His apprehension must have been audible, because the governor's expression softened slightly.

"Oh, you poor thing, hasn't anyone ever told you the dangers women in power pose to powerful men like you?"

She was either being very sarcastic, or entirely honest with him right now, and Solomon was not sure which one he preferred. "They're... they're dangerous?" He wasn't powerful, but then again, in time, he could become so. He could expect Inquisitors or Sisters of Battle or lady techpriests being dangerous, for varying reasons, but others?

"More than you know," she said, turning to leave. "Don't get too close to them and keep your distance at all times, or you stand the chance of being liked. That, in turn, can lead to... complications."

As she left, the captain felt a great deal of relief flood his system. The sooner he could leave this planet and start building the legend he would have to become, so much the better. All he needed now were those supplies and the crew replacements.

"They should be fine," he muttered. "It's not like I'll have to try and teach them the basics of, well, everything, right?"

* * *

 _"NO! You do NOT point your lasgun that way!" Solomon had shouted, grabbing the weapon out of the new recruit's hands. "Here, hold it like this, with this end pointing at the enemy."_

 _This had been the standard procedure for a good portion of the new recruits. Show them the right way to hold a weapon, where to point it, and pray they didn't blow themselves up or shoot one another. It worked, but not as well as he'd have hoped. The infirmary was almost at full capacity from accidents during training. Thankfully nobody had died yet, but at this rate, how long would that luck last?_

 _It didn't help that most of them were young, younger than him, and he was only, from what he could remember, in his mid-twenties. Only a few of the recruits were his age or older, likely those who had fallen on hard times or simply wished to leave the planet. Thankfully, many of the guardsmen who had stayed with him as crew were of tremendous help, often being veterans of many campaigns. He had shortly delegated training to them after one of the recruits nearly shot him in the ass during a live fire exercise._

So, here he was, back in the cargo bay, waiting for Delvidia to show up with the supplies he sorely needed. Syngra had gone off to look through her piles of junk in her room for more STC fragments. Given that she had been against it in the beginning, Solomon felt things were slowly starting to turn around between them. Maybe now, after she had witnessed firsthand the things one could make with a bit of ingenuity and effort, she could help him accomplish more of his tasks without this bullshit passive-aggressive "oh, I guess I could help, even if it goes against everything I stand for" attitude she occasionally slipped into.

Namely, refitting his ship. The weapon systems were fine and dandy, even if he wanted to make some of them stronger, but the sheer fact that you needed crew with ropes and pulleys to push and pull the stupid guns was just... insane. It meant he had to sacrifice combat efficiency of the ship if he wanted more guns, and vice versa. He was already hoping to find some plans for more automated mechanisms. That, in turn, could mean that only two or three crew would be needed per gun: a loader, a mechanic, and a gunner. That way, he could do one of two things: either fit a shitload of extra guns onto his ship, or greatly increase the size of his armed crew.

Either solution would be preferable to those idiotic pulleys. Seriously, how had things degraded to where large weapons were being moved like that? From what he could remember of his time, so much was automated that the current tech was sorely antiquated by comparison.

"I've got my work cut out for me," he muttered. "Damn Imperium is so ass-backwards I can barely comprehend it. I'm just glad Ordacius gave me something to start out with."

"A crew and a fine ship," a voice said, causing him to turn around.

"Pontius? Is something the matter?"

"No, Captain Solomon, but... I did wish to discuss something with you."

"Yes?"

"Adept Syngra spoke to me of your little meeting with the governor of this planet, and the price for her cooperation. I do not think it wise to go along with what she wishes."

"Me neither," Solomon said.

"Then why go through with it? It is obvious she only wishes to use you for her own personal gain."

"Because the right path is most often not the easiest one. Besides, she may think so, and in the immediate scheme of things, yes, she is using me. But, Pontius, in the long run, it will be I who comes out on top."

"How so?"

"Remember how I told you that those two new agricultural vehicles I managed to scrap together could really increase production on a lot of agri-worlds, especially if they operate like this one?"

"Yes?"

"Well, you see, think of this planet as a... testing ground for them. If they work as good or better than I hope, then we'll set up a means to produce them on a forge world, and then sell them to other agri-worlds. Mastuounus Prime has no real means of making these in numbers vast enough to supply anyone but themselves, so if anything does go wrong, we simply improve on the designs until they are as good as they can get. Then, we sell them, make money, and go on from there."

"Seems... logical, though why here? Why not on a world or in a system with more resources?"

"Pontius, you yourself told me of how remote this world is. If this takes off like I think it should, then it's better to start off where there is no competition, where resources are plentiful enough, and where anyone else who makes this kind of stuff will not catch wind of it until it's too firmly entrenched for them to do anything about it. If we started anywhere else, we'd be in trouble almost from the get-go with where the designs came from, but out here, people are more relaxed, less under the thumb of the Imperium's views. With this leeway, we can set things up and spread from there."

"I see. I still do not trust her entirely."

"Well, shit, neither do I," Solomon muttered as he looked behind the psyker. "Hey, here she comes now; act cool."

"Act cool? I am not chilled, this planet is fairly temperate."

The captain gently slapped himself. "It's an expression. It means, 'act natural', so... just go do whatever it is you do, and try not to talk to her. If you do, pretend to be really grateful for her aid or something."

"Certainly, sir." With that, the pale man slunk off as silent as a wisp of smoke, earning a curious glance from governor Delvidia.

"Who was that?" She, for some reason, had not only changed into a much less formal set of clothes, which were by no means any less extravagant, but her hair and makeup were different. Did she spend every waking moment of her life designing how she would look a few hours later, or was this some sort of bizarre local custom of this planet's nobility?

"Our astropath. He's more or less harmless, but really quiet for some reason. I'm thinking of giving him a bell or something to put around his neck, so one of the new recruits doesn't accidentally shoot him if he sneaks up on them."

"Odd. Anyways, I was wishing to speak with you once before you set out," the governor said. "Our deal still stands, correct?"

"Yes, yes, I'll go and do... whatever I need to with some of the other governors. I'm still not sure yet for some. I might stop over at Vaeria Prime. Nice decent-sized forge world, makes a lot of smaller combat ships for the Imperium. I was hoping to pick up some upgrades for the Terra's Scion. When I became captain, she was damaged in a fight with Chaos raiders, and though we've made repairs, she'll need some work to be in tip-top shape."

"A good place to start, but I should warn you, the tech priests on that planet do not take kindly to what they perceive as blatant heretek." The knowing look in her green eyes was rather surprising, but then again, one did not get to a position of power like her own by being stupid. Lucky, maybe, being born into such chances for power, but by no means entirely stupid.

"I'm... I'm not sure what you mean, I just-,"

"Solomon, I know you are different, perhaps more than you realize. The way you walk, talk, act, it's... it's unlike anyone I've ever met. You are definitely doing something that others would greatly frown upon, and those two machines you sent with me were the most obvious example of technological adaption I've seen in my life. Did you really think I'd assume the techpriests of Mars would just randomly come up with a pair of designs like these for far-flung agri-worlds? They don't care for us as much as they'd like us to think, with their obsession with technology and escape from the eventuality of death."

Damn, he was caught; well, time to try and make the best of it. "Um... maybe? I was kind of hoping you'd just go along with it."

"I do not take kindly to insults, and assuming I would buy into such a fallacy is an insult to my intelligence," she whispered. "However... they will prove very useful to me and my world, and I thank you for them. Though, do take care in the future, Solomon. Few will be so... lenient as I am with such a revelation as to your true nature."

"What will it take to keep you from ratting me out?" He felt she wouldn't do such a thing, but he needed to know, just in case.

"Oh, nothing yet, and likely nothing ever. There's... something about you, something I can't quite put my finger on," Delvidia muttered, leaning in close enough to whisper into his ear. "It's special, I'll give you that, but right now, consider me your only ally in the galaxy with the power to keep you safe. Your ship can be seized and your crew imprisoned if enough charges are brought against you, but under my banner, you can have some... leniency within this sector of space."

Her eyes locked onto his, and the tone that followed could have made a commissar shit himself. "Be warned, though: I am not your friend, to use and abandon as it suits you. Should you abuse this gift of my leniency towards your actions, or double-cross me in any way, and I will make you pay dearly for your treachery, in the most painful way I can think of, and I have a very active imagination. Do we have an understanding?"

He gulped. Damn, for a beauty, she could be friggin' scary when she wanted to be: Solomon could have sworn the temperature in the room had dropped three degrees at her threat. "Yeah, sure," he muttered. "Y-You got it."

"Good," she replied, her smile returning unnaturally quick. "In return for my good graces and protection, you will pay me back at a later date."

"What would that be?"

"Oh, I'll think of something," she said, with a mischievous tone that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "Just don't lose it before then, okay?"

"Lose what? My ship?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll figure it out," she said as a large contingent of vehicles began entering the ship. "My subjects will unload the supplies you requested. Until we meet again, Captain Solomon."

"Yeah, sure... until then," he replied, watching her walk away, before shaking his head. Was she only teasing him in some twisted way when she had told him he was special, or had he just made a deal that was going to eventually come back to bite him in the ass?

"Only time will tell," Solomon muttered, before heading off to help direct his new influx of materials. Maybe now he could get working on that giant lascannon STC he had come across...


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Before setting off to Vaeria Prime, Solomon's most pressing next stop was the world of Mastuonus Tertiarius, the third planet in the system. Technically, anyways, but it was simply called "Mas Tert" by the locals of "Mas Prime", as Solomon soon found out from some of his recruits, most of whom had never set foot on a starship before, never mind leave their home world behind.

This world was not an agri-world, but more along the lines of a Feral World. The planet was more or less divided into three climates. At the poles, reaching a good ways up from either side, were massive sheets of ice and rock, with barely anything living there. Along those polar regions lay a vast series of taiga forests and savannas. In the most central portion, along the equator, lay a vast desert. Settlements were scattered across the world, with the most populated ones living in the savanna regions, though a large portion of the inhabitants were nomadic in nature.

All of these biomes were only broken up every now and then by a vast expanse of what the sensors and system charts told Solomon was an extremely salty ocean.

As such, the main export from this world to Mastuonus Prime, other than occasional guardsmen or rare animal furs, was salt: lots and lots of salt.

However, he wasn't here to go down and recruit anyone for his ship, nor was he going to collect a bunch of sodium chloride. No, he had heard of their large moon, Talmanjir, and how it was entirely habitable, but was more or less incapable of producing food in large enough quantities for a permanent colony, apparently because of a poor soil that was also somewhat acidic. A base, on the other hand, was something entirely different.

So, with all due haste, he had picked a spot whereas to set up. The atmosphere was thankfully breathable, and he guessed the tons of moss-like pillars that dotted the lowlands were the moon's equivalent to trees. Thankfully, though the spores were not toxic or infectious, something almost unheard of in the galaxy these days. As for other forms of life, there really weren't any. Some large insects here or there that fed on the moss, and in turn, carried the seeds of those very plants themselves, and there were a few insects that ate other insects. All insects seemed to glow one color or another, either to confuse predators, attract mates, or simply to identify their own species. It rained every now an then, usually a calm or light drizzle, though the occasional thunderstorm did sweep across the surface.

Other than that, the moon was devoid of life, which meant whomever he left here to run a base would undoubtedly be much safer than on the feral world below. Picking a spot on a very large plateau that scans had shown was rich in ores, and surrounded by a vast canyon valley of moss pillars, Solomon had gotten to work on building what was likely the first permanent settlement on the planet.

A makeshift barracks was the first thing set up, and then a defensive perimeter to the very edges of the plateau, with more solid buildings to be added in later. There wasn't anything else there to attack them, but he felt it would be best to make these structures, if only to assure whomever was stationed her that they would be safe. Many of the supplies that hadn't been used to fully repair the _Terra's Scion_ or set aside for Solomon to experiment with had gone into the production of as many required buildings as they could. Moisture collectors for drinking water until a well of sorts could be dug, several automated mining drones for digging up the ores that littered the surface, and a small processing plant for turning that into more building materials. A small operation, for sure, but it was a start.

Leaving behind a small portion of his newest recruits to continue building in his stead, as well as several veterans to train them, Solomon told them he would be back within a few days, and as such left them enough food rations to survive a month or two. That way, if anything bad did happen to him, or he was held up in some way, they wouldn't immediately starve. The fact that the veterans had suggested he do this did not exactly fill Solomon with confidence.

So, he left them a few shuttles capable of reaching the planet below, just in case. At least down there they would have a chance.

"Adept Syngra, are we set for Vaeria Prime?"

"All systems are a go, Captain Solomon."

"Good, take us out then."

High above the moon of Talmanjir, the _Terra's Scion_ silently entered the warp.

* * *

It was immediately telling just how different Vaeria and Mastuonus were from one another. Whilst the agri-world was rather serene, the forge world anything but. Countless ships skittered across the surface at varying heights, from high orbit to near-ground level. That is, if you could even see the ground. Thick, rolling clouds of what sensors said were toxic gasses flew through the uppermost portions of the atmosphere, likely a byproduct of industrialism gone rampant. The large orbital dockyards that surrounded the planet like a ring were filled with ships of all types, in all stages of construction.

However, even for a forge world, the state of things did not look all that good. Many of the smaller dockyards were either in states of disrepair or not being used at all, and the distant asteroid belt that surrounded the midpoint of the system was barely being harvested for resources, scans of which showed there were quite a few. The planet, and in turn the rest of the system, had fallen on hard times, it would seem. Perhaps it was it's remoteness, or the fact that larger shipyards were needed more than small ones these days.

Solomon sought to try and correct that, but Delvidia's words about the planet's techpriests and heretek rang in his ears even now. It'd have to be either so gradual as that none would notice, or he'd have to trick an entire planet's worth of cyborgs, or at least the governor, into thinking he'd simply found an already-translated STC fragment. The second option, while deceptive on a whole other level, did appeal to him more than taking a decade or two to see any progress. He needed this forge world up and running as soon as possible, if anything was going to get done.

In the bridge of the _Terra's Scion_ , Solomon sat, contemplating the path ahead of him. He had an idea, but it was kind of crazy. Crazy enough to work, yes, but only if the right people went along with it. Turning to his right, he looked at his techpriest. "Hey, Syngra, if you don't mind me asking, just how old are you? I can't tell."

She looked up from her work, schematics of a new type of attack craft, and glanced at him with a curious expression. Surprise, perhaps? Thankfully not offended, as Solomon didn't need to know asking a woman her age was a good way to get slapped. In this day and age, if she were of sufficient power, he might get shot for it. "I am a standard one hundred cycles, which translate to one hundred Terran years, though by comparison to other humans, I am around the same age as yourself, biologically speaking. Why do you ask?"

One hundred years? Wow, those cybernetics really did halt aging, even if you did wind up looking like a glorified half human, half Terminator toaster. "Well, I was going to try and see if I could convince the techpriest guys down on the planet if I could reserve or have one of their smallest shipyards, or failing that, buy a mobile asteroid processor or something. They have plenty of workers in those massive forges, but the tech priests in charge will be the biggest problem, especially their governor. We need raw materials, Syngra, for all of our upcoming projects, but we also need money, and that's something I'm not exactly sure how to access what we have."

Captain Ordacius had not shown Solomon the innermost vaults before he died, and none of the crew that had departed had bothered to tell him just what was in there, or how to get in there at all. Then again, it was likely few of them knew how the damn things operated.

"Well, seeing as the ship is now yours, why not go down there and use the blood sampling device? You did when you registered the ship and the Warrant of Trade as your own, with everyone on board as your witnesses. Perhaps it has, by now, gone through the system, and the machine spirits have accepted you fully as their lord and captain?"

"Maybe, maybe," he replied. "When I'm not busy, I'll stop down there. There are five vaults, and if I have to go through them one by one, then there's no telling how long it'd take, or even what's in there."

"Well, when you do feel it would be worth your time, look through them," she replied. "The captain never ran out of funds, no matter how many times he needed to buy supplies or pay his crew."

"I'll look when we get back to our moon base," Solomon said. "But only after we get what we came for here."

"The shipyards?"

"Well, yes, but more importantly, letting the governor of this world know that Delvidia has a Rogue Trader under her thumb."

"But... she doesn't."

"You and I know that, and she knows that, but the other governors don't know that. We'll use that to our advantage."

"How so? What does that have to do with my age?"

"I'll go over it with you on our way down, but the older you are, the more others tend to trust what you say. Not all, but many, anyways. How good are you at making something up on the fly, er, I mean... on the spot?"

* * *

Turns out the toxic clouds reached farther down to the surface than Solomon had been led to believe. Having decided that keeping his ship in orbit, due to the likely corrosive nature of the upper atmosphere, he had instead journeyed down to the planet with Syngra and a few guardsmen in one of the larger shuttles. The haze that filled the air seemed to stretch on for as far as he could see, and due to the thick rolling clouds, that wasn't very far at all. Every city that lay sprawled out looked like massive factories from his time, but of sizes he could not fully come to terms with. For all he knew, they reached deep into the ground like termite mounds or ant hills, the visible portion just a small fraction of the factories' entirety.

Upon reaching the surface, and reading the scans, he had made sure everyone was fitted with a respirator, so as to filter out the contaminants in the air. Seriously, the scans were so clogged with an occasional heavy metal drifting through the breeze, it reminded him of a song he had heard once, long ago.

" _And it's go boys, go, they'll time your every breath,_ " he thought as they approached the front steps to the planetary governor's mansion. " _And every day you're in this place you're two days nearer death_."

This governor's residence looked more like a bunker than someone's home, though if he had to guess, most of the world's inhabitants lived away from the thick, choking air. That, or everyone was partially cybernetic and did not need to breath as clean of air as "normal" humans.

He was going to keep his respirator on, just in case.

Nobody stood guard at the entrance, but judging from the shapes moving in the towers alongside it, they were not alone. Solomon merely raised him arm in greeting, as he had been instructed to do so by Syngra, and soon enough the doors creaked open. A choking cloud of the filthy outside air rushed inwards around the small group as they entered, the doors quickly shutting behind them, effectively sealing them inside.

At least they were out of the elements. In the looming darkness, several sets of lights came to life. The settling dust made the air all the harder to see in, but the light journeyed down a path away from the entrance, enticing the group deeper into the structure.

"I guess we go this way," Solomon said with a shrug, his voice muffled by the respirator.

Headed down a rather winding hallway, the small group came to a stop in a larger auditorium area, clear of dust and dirt. The air, even through the filters, smelled cleaner than up above, so either the air scrubbers here were in very good order, or they had gone down far enough to escape the choking skies above. All over the walls slithered wires, pipes and tubes of all shapes and sizes. It literally looked like something out of a submarine to Solomon, though considering he had never been on one, he wasn't sure how he knew that. Perhaps it was just his memories playing tricks on him.

At the end of a hallway lay a door, though it looked even sturdier than the walls that surrounded them. Seemingly made out of molded steel, there was only the slightest trace of a seam between the two gargantuan halves. There was a small beep, and a flash of green light, and console slid into view from alongside the door. The screen, fuzzy for a few moments, became clear, and a face appeared on it.

Or at least... what consisted of a small portion of a face. The rest, hidden under knobs, bundles of wire, a glass bulb, and several blinking lights, took up the rest. "Greetings, visitor," the voice said from only half of a visible mouth. "What seek you this day?"

"I wish to speak with the governor of this planet," Solomon replied. "I am Captain Solomon of the _Terra's Scion_ , and am a Rogue Trader by occupation."

"Ah, well then, come in, come in," the mostly mechanical face said, just as a hiss emerged from the great blast doors. "The governor will be expecting you in the lobby."

"Lobby?" Solomon muttered to himself as the great doors began to slide open, prompting the party to take a step back. "What is this, a bunker, or a hotel?"

"Some of the more remote of my order do become a bit... odd, if they are away from others for a significant amount of time. They tend to develop quirks that others might find unusual, even for techpriests," Syngra said, her need for a respirator replaced by the fact that she had swapped out her lungs for synthetic ones a few decades back. "Do not worry, though, I am sure he will be completely reasonable."

Five minutes later, Solomon was sure she regretted saying that.

"Greetings!" it shouted, apparently having damaged sound receptors or no knowledge of appropriate speaking levels. "It" was as mechanical as one could get without going full robot, the only shred of humanity left being the rather large brain in a glass jar. That, however, was so covered with wires, sheets of metal plating and tubes that it may have been a liver for all Solomon knew. "Welcome to Vaeria Prime, travelers. Might I offer you some refreshments?"

The "lobby" area was spacious, but also very bare, with only a few dilapidated chairs to sit upon, and in the middle of a large spire. The lower portions that radiated downwards from it, seemingly endlessly, were being patrolled by countless techpriests, servitors, and the occasional flesh-and-blood human, though with the masks and heavily modified uniforms they wore, it was hard to tell.

"Um... no thank you," he replied, wincing at the grinding underneath. Was he full of sand, or did he just need an oil bath?

"Oh, that's quite all right, I didn't have any anyway," it said. "Don't need to eat, see. I am Governor Orcha, master of this forge world, how might I help you this fine day?"

If what it looked outside classified as a "fine day" on this world, Solomon didn't want to be here to witness a "bad" one. "Well... we were looking to maybe hiring your services," Solomon said. "My vessel was attacked a short time ago by Chaos raiders, and I need to make some full repairs on portions of it. That, and I'd like to make some additional modifications."

"Modifications, you say?" Orcha asked, one of the lenses that made up an eye zooming out slightly towards him. "What kind of modifications?"

"Oh, you know, replacing one type of gun with another... another Imperial designated gun battery, of course." He wanted fewer men arming just one weapon, and more weapons in total. Thus, more firepower for his ship's size, greater degree of freedom when it came to changing circumstances, and less chances of losing half his crew in a single strike on a main gun battery.

"Of course, of course. We should be available to start such a procedure within... two months, I should think. Our shipyards are very busy at the moment."

"Really? Some look abandoned." Shit, some of them looked about ready to fall apart if one so much as leaned on them. Though, how you _lean_ on something in _space_...

"Yes, well, we can't always have them up and running, even though we are busy. Yes, yes, terribly busy, always busy, all the time," the diminutive techpriest muttered. Seriously, he was only about three feet tall: had he not replaced his legs or something when he had had them removed? "Anything else? Who told you of our forges?"

"Well, I was recommended to come here, by way of one Governor Delvidia..."

That had an almost immediate effect on the techpriest. "Oh, well, if she sent you here, then she obviously knows how high of quality our ships are!" Orchus said, with a voice that suggested he'd be grinning in pride from ear to ear if he still had a mouth, or a chin, or any ears. Or a face. "Yes, yes, very good, best ships around, and at a fair price in these parts. All things from here, very good, very well-made, princes very fair to boot!"

Was he glitched? There was no need to repeat that part on prices, unless her was trying to make it a point. "I've heard you, on the other hand, don't always pay a fair price for food from her world," Solomon replied.

"I don't have hands, only tendrils, honorable meatbag captain. We can't all harvest plants for a living, many of us don't need food, only recharge, good old recharge and oil baths. Why are we still talking? What is it you want now?"

"Well... you're the governor of a forge world, I was hoping you could... forge something for me."

"Really? Is it not obvious I would be glad to forge something for a guest such as yourself, especially if Delvidia is involved?"

To Solomon, that almost sounded like a cross between a bizarre inside joke and a direct insult. He wasn't sure what to think of it. "Yes, but not right now. My on board techpriest received a pair of... modified blueprints of two new agricultural vehicles from Mars. Hush hush, under the radar, very recently translated STC fragments. We were chosen to scout out a system or two to test them in, in the name of the Omnissiah."

"Really?" Orchus asked, eyeing up Syngra as if she were a new model of toaster. Solomon didn't like that at all. "Is this true, sister adept? Have our outlying systems been graced with newfound technology?"

"Yes, very, though why they contacted us remains a mystery to myself," Syngra said. "There are many outer systems that would require more than just a Rogue Trader to administer their progress, yet this might be why it was us that were chosen. That, and these are quiet sectors, away from wars and raiding xenos. All I know is my orders were to assist in spreading these recently-translated STC-based vehicles throughout the Imperium of Man, starting with these more remote sectors. When I asked why, they merely told me it was for "improvement purposes", though whether to improve the designs or our productivity as a whole, I do not know, nor did I see fit to ask."

"Have you seen the designs themselves?"

"Yes, they are marvelous, simply wondrous to behold. Truly, the work of the Machine God is evident in their design."

Solomon glanced over at his techpriest. "Laying it on kinda thick there, Syngra," he thought.

"Hmm... unforeseen, but not unprecedented, and a wondrous thing too, for the Machine God's will be brought forth through creation," the small governor muttered. "Very well then, I will gladly begin production of these designs. Do you, by chance, have them with you?"

"No, unfortunately, we did not bring them, as we do not at the moment have the immediate funds with which to pay you," Syngra said.

"As soon as that is all cleared up, we will return with the plans, and an order for a shipment of them," Solomon continued. "However, in the meantime, do you by chance have access to a fighter construction dockyard?"

"One of those old things? Why yes, of course, but we only have three left, and they are in low orbit, very unsafe to use now," Orchus said.

Just then, the entire ground shook slightly, followed by a distant rumble, causing dust to fall from several of the large tubes and bundles of wires moving along the ceiling.

"Make that two left," he added quickly. "It's orbit was decaying faster than the others, must have just landed."

"Can we have one?" Solomon asked.

"What is in it for me? Even if they are junk, I will not part with them for what I assume to be cheap trinkets."

"Well... if we receive any new decoded STC fragments, you'll be the first to know? Also, could you pay Governor Delvidia fairly for her system's products? You guys don't have an agri-world of your own, and she's the nearest one."

There was a slight zinging sound from underneath all the metal that reminded Solomon of a party whistle. "I find your terms... acceptable," the governor muttered. "I'll consider you having one of the two fighter construction docks as a promise to bring me STC as soon as they arrive to you from Mars. To renege on this deal would be... unwise."

"I agree, I only trade fairly, and without ill intent," Solomon said, feeling awfully unsure of what this guy's intentions were. Was he really just that gullible and only wanted STC fragments? Or was he possibly playing at something else? "Shall we shake on it?"

The governor almost crushed his hand with the claw from one of his back tendrils.

* * *

"Hey, Syngra?" Solomon asked over his vox as he lowered himself from the bay of the _Terra's Scion_ , the large clamp held in a tight grip by his space-worthy exosuit. The small thrust pack on his back was thankfully in tip-top shape, and allowed him to effortlessly move around in the vacuum of space.

"Yes, Captain Solomon?"

"Do all techpriests eventually end up like Governor Orchus?"

"Many, yes, when they have reached sufficient age, or are as devoted as one can be to the Machine God. Replacing the organics of our body with that of metal and technology are seen as a rite of passage."

"What about you?"

"I am not yet old enough to need full conversion, nor do I have the... conviction to do so. Not yet."

Amidst toxic clouds of the uppermost atmosphere, Solomon attached the cable to the starfighter dockyard. It was small compared to the others floating around the planet, perhaps overall large enough to create a small corvette, but it would serve his purposes just fine. He needed some sort of defense against smaller and more numerous targets, and right now, he didn't have the crew to man more than one large ship. He'd have to wait for that. "Why not?" he asked as both he and the dock were slowly retrieved back into the ship.

"I'm am not entirely sure myself," she replied. "It is... difficult to explain."

Well, he could understand that. How exactly is someone to state "oh, I want to replace my muscles with wires and my organs with computers" in a reasonable manner? "What percentage, would you say, are you no longer flesh and blood? Given that the governor was about 99 percent metal..."

"I would say around... maybe forty percent? It is hard to maintain a percentage when you've added more metal to your form without having taken away an equal amount of flesh. Other than my lungs, only a few of my organs and muscles have been replaced."

"Which ones?"

"My spleen, my liver, my heart, and one of my kidneys, though the other may soon need to be replaced as well. The rest I have retained for... personal reasons."

Solomon reflected on this as he and his new (and very used) starfighter dock were loaded into the ship's cargo area. They were really going to have to spend some time on repairing this thing, it looked like it had been dragged through three warzones and a minefield. "Anything else?"

"Other than my mechano-tendrils, most of my additions are covering my body: forearms, legs and such."

"I see, thanks for telling me," he replied as the bay doors closed and oxygen returned to the area. Slowly removing himself from his suit, he made sure he was alone before whispering into the vox. "Hey, Syngra, care to make our journey back to Talmajir a little longer? Maybe stop by an asteroid belt or two to find some resources?"

"Why?"

"I'm taking your advice, and I'm going to go down to the vaults, see what's in there if I can," he muttered. None of the new recruits had heard of the vaults, let alone seen them, and as such he wanted to keep it that way, until he was completely sure of their loyalty. "Best way to get some time alone on this ship is if we find some resources for this dock. It's in really bad shape, one good strike from a sledgehammer might start sending it into pieces."

"I will have Pontius set course for the rings outside of this system, and that of Mastuonus."

"Thank you, Syngra, you're the best."

There was a pause on the other end. "The best what?"

"Um... it's an expression. It roughly means 'you are very good at what you do, and I am very thankful for that', or at least, I think that's the best way of putting it."

"Thank you... Captain Solomon. I will set course for the system's asteroid fields."

"Thank you Syngra, just... not too close, okay? I'd like the ship to stay in one piece."

* * *

"That is all there was? A floating, empty ship?"

"A floating, empty scout ship," Brother Baramus corrected, standing before the council on Orestes Prime. "However, it was not a total loss. Though stripped of much of it's value, the ship itself is a piece of history, dating back to the very founding of the Imperium. I believe more secrets could be unlocked from it, if I could continue to-,"

"All of the time you have spent on this relic, and the details which led to this ship, have so far been a fruitless endeavor," one of the more senior techpriests said, earning a few agreements from the other gathered. "What more could you hope to gain from studying this wreck?"

"Find out the identity of those who stripped it," Baramus retorted. "It was cleaned of it's overall value shortly before we arrived, maybe only a few days. Telltale clues show that it did not have much cargo, and what cargo it did have, was not very large."

"A pile of STC fragments?"

"Perhaps, but I think something far heavier. The floor where the object sat was of a greater weight than many, many STC fragments, judging from the scrape and dent marks."

"What do you think it was? A weapon of sorts?"

"No, I surmise it might have been an artifact even older than the Imperium, spirited away to deep space for safe-keeping," he replied. "If the ship were carrying something like that, then the object in question would have been older than the ship, most likely. Also, the ship itself does not appear in any records we possess, nor do they appear in any of those belonging to the Administratum. I even personally requested information on the ship from the Estate Imperium, and they could not find anything either. I believe this ship was sent off with a very important piece of cargo, by a very important figure, possibly the God-Emperor himself."

"Truly?"

"I believe it possible, very much so."

The council quickly whispered between one another, glancing down at Baramus every now and then. "Very well then, Baramus, continue with your investigations, though in light of this revelation, we will be sending for an Inquisitorial representative to accompany. Someone you've met before, a mister "Triggerus". He will assist you in finding this ship's cargo, as there have been strange rumors floating about from former member of a rogue trader's crew. We will be looking forward to any more... insight you might gain from the relic and ship's study, and from their own testimonies. "

Meanwhile...

"Hey, are you okay?"

The red figure rose from the absolutely monstrous pile of books he had fallen into. "No, my head hurts... something is happening, something big."

"What is it?" the smaller custodes asked.

"I think... I think it's related to that big mind-punch I got a few weeks ago. You know, the one where I started writhing in agony on the library floor like a techpriest who had been struck by lightning?"

"Oh yeah, that was funny... I mean, wait, it is? What do you think it means?"

The giant of a man, yet far more than a normal man should be, slowly dusted himself off. "It means, you ignorant fool, that my father isn't the only one out there trying to fix this festering corpse of an Imperium."

"Really? Well, that's good to hear. Are they on our side?"

"If you mean the side of humanity, then yes, I think so. If you mean the side of the Imperium... I have no damn idea. I need to go clear my head, that sudden backlash was like ripping out all of your toenails at once, but in your head. Have you seen my bike?"

 **A/N: yes, this takes place during the "If the Emperor Had a Text to Speech Device" series on Youtube, if the description wasn't obvious. Yes, I asked Bruva Alfabusa and received his permission to insert this story into that timeline. Yes, I've discussed a few things with him and how the story will progress, and how this story can and will mold to the changes his series brings about. Yes, I will try and keep the interactions between Solomon and his own characters to a minimum unless needed. No, I have no idea if this story or Solomon will be mentioned in his series, but I would be tickled pink if it were.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

It had been nearly two weeks since Solomon had first visited Mastuonus Prime, and even though he had sent several messages detailing his dealings with various other governors, Solomon felt he owed it to Governor Delvidia that he speak with her in person on such matters. After all, if not for her "protection", he would not currently possess a large amount of materials needed to complete his base on the moon of Talmanjir.

The barracks and the walls, as well as several watchtowers, were completed, and already a larger set of defenses and living quarters were being built further into the ground. A small castle had gone up already, courtesy of the efforts of seemingly tireless labor crews he had conscripted from Whara IV, a hive city planet a short warp jump away. He had also brought along their families as a means of a down payment for their services, and many had jumped at the offer. Even now, a large series of hydroponics farms was being set up outside of the main base, down in the river-rich valleys, and the makeshift hospital had become a full-fledged ward, though it still needed a lot of work before it would be completely operational. The recyclers pulled plenty of drinking water from the air, and after some chemical treatments, the water from the soil was clean enough to be used for washing and bathing.

Good thing too. By now there were no less than fifty thousand men and women under Solomon's command, which was around five whole divisions in the current day's rules. Around five thousand of those, one thousand from each division, were permanently stationed on the moon base for security, a garrison, weapons training and testing. The other forty five thousand were aboard the Terra's Scion, either making sure the ship was in order, learning to pilot, or training themselves with what gear they had for war.

Sure, he had had to bring in some more supplies than he had originally anticipated to feed that many, along with the several thousand hive city dwellers he now had, but things were going along well enough, even if the hive citizens were staying inside most of the time. Perhaps, in time, they would get used to not living in such squalid and cramped conditions. Still, Solomon took not chances, and had both medical staff and Pontius scan the hive citizens for any signs of a genestealer cult. Thankfully, they found none, though that could be because they were so far from any advancing Tyranid fleets of any kind, that the chances of finding such a cult in these sectors was extremely small.

Still, it paid to be cautious. He did not trust some of the crews to behave unless they were supervised, and as such had made sure they were watched all the time, but still treated fairly. The last thing he wanted or needed was some damn worker's revolt or uprising to set back everything he had accomplished so far on this mossy space rock.

Though, without Delvidia and her influence, he would not have the small dockyard currently in orbit around his moon base. Already it was being put to work, though only recently, as it had taken almost all of those two weeks to get it fully operational. The machine spirit within was always a bit cranky, spouting off things about "barrel rolls" and "targeting computers", and would really only work if Syngra asked it to with a "pretty please" every so often. Still, for all the repairs and delays, it was finally churning out a newly designed craft. However, it was not Solomon who had designed this.

It was Syngra.

Indeed, it had taken a little longer than he had hoped, yet nowhere near as long as expected to convince her of the folly of technological stagnation through indecision and backwards ideas. That, and the fact that Solomon shared freely every STC he decoded, as well as those he attempted to but could not quite fully translate. She had been a great help in that department.

As it would turn out, she was great at making stuff up on the fly, and was better at it than he was by a long shot. Already, based on some old STC designs that were already being used, she had developed two new attack craft: a combination of many parts of the old Wrath Starfighter and the (comparably) newer Fury Interceptor, with strengths from both and the weaknesses of neither, and at a much smaller size. She had also managed to alter a Marauder Bomber so significantly that, even though it was now slower in atmospheric conditions, it had nearly double payload it once did, and also sported a retractable underbelly shotgun-like lascannon of Solomon's design that had the potential to vaporize several enemy artillery positions in a single shot.

Of course, as with all of Solomon's other creations, it would only be worth the effort to make significant amounts of them after they had been field-tested properly, like the two vehicles he had given Governor Delvidia. Word had come back about a few shortcomings for both, though thankfully such things were mere oversights on Solomon's part, and with some quick know-how on Syngra's part the problems were readily taken care of. Soon enough, thanks to the deal with Governor Orchus, these new agri-world vehicles would be rolling off the assembly lines in sufficient quantities within the month.

However, for these new kinds of attack craft, they would need to be tested in battle, and for Solomon, this posed a significant risk. Well, besides the obvious chance of him dying, or a huge portion of his crew dying, or his ship being destroyed, there was the fact that he was an unknown to the vast majority of the galaxy. Sure, if he came across a system besieged by orks, they'd gladly accept his help, but then again, they'd eventually wonder where in the Warp had he gotten such an unusual amount of firepower, or these strange, unknown vehicles. Word would spread, and even with the fact that, according to the latest reports, the Inquisition had been disbanded, there were still undoubtedly former Inquisitors out there who would have no problem tracking him down for various reasons.

That, and the Adeptus Mechanicus, if they ever caught wind of him making stuff without "their permission", then they'd probably send either a fleet to kill or capture him. He would either be seen as a threat to their monopoly on technology, or he would be seen as a great asset, used to make more tech for themselves.

Bunch of greedy toasters. Didn't they realize the Imperium would be a lot safer place if most guardsmen carried volkite or non-explosive plasma weapons? Hell, even giving them all Solomon's own "improved" lasgun would have turned the tide in many a battle.

He sighed. In no time at all, his base would soon be large enough to operate permanently out of, meaning the Terra's Scion would likely become his flagship, and not his only ship. Yet, for it to be a flagship, he'd need a fleet, and even with the vast stores of wealth currently at his disposal, he was not sure which path to take. Did he create a vast armada of destroyers and cruisers, bristling with overwhelming firepower? Did he invest in carriers, swarming his enemies with extremely fast fighters and bombers? Or did he instead create a small fleet, one dedicated to protecting a vast army? It was very hard to say, seeing as a combination of all three would be the best overall strategy, but right now, he didn't have the resources for a massive army or a massive fleet.

So, building a small group of heavily-armed carriers, filled to the brim with highly powerful attack craft, would be the best bet for now. Thanks to Syngra's redesigns, his fighters would no longer be the size of one of his time's jumbo jets, and would instead be nimble, almost impossible to hit, and loaded with anti-bomber weaponry. The bombers, now faster in the vacuum of space, would also be harder to hit, and could now deliver their payloads to strategic points. After all, why fire all your weapons at an enemy ship when fifteen bombers can, in a single strike, cripple it's ability to move and even fight back?

The stupidity of so many of the Imperium's ways was getting to him. Guns moved by ropes? Weapons that could kill the user as much as the enemy? Meat grinder tactics? It just boggled his mind that humanity was still alive and kicking after the Emperor's almost-death. However, in this vast sea of either unrelenting progress or a growing dislike for many subtle aspects of the Imperium, that night, Solomon finally made contact once more with the two voices in his head. Suffice to say, Adam was rather pleased with his progress, though Eve seemed more supportive of his overall objective.

 _"I do like this moon base of yours, it could become quite the fortress home," the masculine voice said. "Could use a bit more work, though."_

 _"Oh, I'm sure he's doing his best with what he has," Eve replied. "Come to think of it, he's made excellent progress for a man who was still frozen in a pod a little over... how long has it been? A month?"_

 _"A month and a half, almost two full months," Solomon muttered. He was glad none of the crew could hear him talking in his sleep. For all he knew, he spoke not only in his voice, but in that of Adam and Eve as well. They'd probably think him possessed if they found out._

 _"What's next on the agenda?"_

 _"Well... Adam, I was hoping to try and build up my power base. You know, more troops, maybe make myself a fleet, upgrade the gear under my command. You know, that sort of thing. Can't really get anything significant done if I don't have anything to do it with."_

 _"Sounds like a start, but there has to be more to it than that," Eve said. "You've got to start making a name for yourself, and in doing so, will attract others to you. Many good, some bad, and others right down the line that divide them."_

 _"Well, yeah, I suppose, but how?"_

 _"Orks."_

 _"Orks? My base of operations, and my so-far small influence, is not in any system near a war with them, so... what do you mean?"_

 _"Well, you've got this new or improved tech you've been developing, but it's not tested yet. Even if it's better, a lot of the Imperium will stick to the "tried and true" shit they currently use," Adam said in a huff. "As much as it pains me to say it, you're going to have to suffer through losing men to gain more power, and losing progress to make a more significant impact on the Imperium."_

 _"I always guessed I'd have to do that, I just... I just didn't want to right off the bat."_

 _"That's fine, I didn't say do so this second. Just... within a few days, I feel there will be a confrontation in the Woebus System, located in the far reaches of the Ultima Segmentum. It is another, rather unassuming civilized world, but therein lies it's importance. It is a potential staging ground for a strike on the worlds of Ultramar, home of the Ultramarines, but they are too pressed elsewhere, and none know exactly which planets the orks will invade. I can't exactly tell anyone about either, I'm really busy."_

 _"Ah, okay then. When the time comes, I'll swing by there and test out some of my new war gear."_

 _"Excellent. If you need anything else, whenever you fall asleep, don't be afraid to ask. We'll always be there for you, Solomon," Eve softly replied._

* * *

Things transpired to the designs of many, but many more things occurred that were beyond the control of mortals. Deep within the realm of Chaos, were nothing made sense and everything was a kaleidoscope of madness, darkness and demon bodily fluids, there lay a place that even the most heinous of demons would not enter unless they had been shown the way, or were completely insane. Through a labyrinth of mirror hallways, paths and blood-coated walls, where staircases shifted and the ground itself was likely just temporarily solid, there lay the great lair of the most deceiving, cunning, and indecisive douchebag in pretty much all of the galaxy's history.

Tzeentch, the Chaos God of Change and Sorcery.

No soul-bearing species' plans were hidden from him. No ambition, no strategy, no means of concealing their desires was safe from his prying mind. No snack platter, real or imagined, safe from his ceaselessly-chattering octopus mouth. Then again, he also kinda looked like a bird, but it depended on who you asked, and how he felt at the time. Some days he felt like a space octopus, others he felt like some odd bird-man. Yet other days, though those were rare, he felt like a recluse with excessive facial hair and a need for cheese-filled baked goods.

Whatever his looks, and whatever his mood, Tzeentch was one thing above all others: always looking ahead, to the future. His plans were often so ridiculously over-the-top and complex that even if half of the steps were skipped or didn't come to pass, the overall objective would still be met, but it would never be complete, as that would mean the plan was no longer n motion. That, and even if the plan failed completely and utterly, like those who served him did all the time, he'd just use the bits and pieces of it to make new plans, plans for the downfall of empires, the rise of chaos, and the overall messing up of the galaxy at large.

 _Somebody_ needed a new hobby.

High up in his tower of books, board games and nerd-stuff, the chaos god looked into his crystal infinite-sided dice. Images swirled through faster than the minds of greater demons could comprehend, yet he saw it all, and thus knew it all. Recently, a little wrinkle had appeared, one he had not expected to for a longer time than it had. Yet, it mattered little to him. Everything would transpire as he had seen it would, or could, and when it did, he would be there, to happily wallow like a filthy animal in the countless things that had gone wrong.

Just as planned.

* * *

Deep in the heart of space, a lone construct drifted silently, the stark white surface marred by the occasional blackened bits of chaos raider wreckage. Such battle scars could not be removed easily, for many were always being added, and what little remained untouched was constantly bombarded by the whirling solar winds of the Eye of Terror. It's orbit perilously close to complete annihilation, the fact that the massive ship still existed was a testament to the might of it's construction and the will of its defenders.

However, it was not without its problems from within, and after a meeting of the highest authority within, one citizen had prepared herself to leave on a mission of unparalleled importance. Deep within the innermost workings of the Craftworld Ulthwe, however, one particular Eldar was not quite happy with the council's decision.

"I am not the first to say this, nor may I be the last, but... are you insane?"

"It does not matter. I was chosen for this task, sister, do not forget that." She was set to depart soon, but this argument had been going on for nearly an hour by now. She needed to be focused, more than she had ever been in her extensive life.

"But a Seer of your importance, so close to achieving the title of Farseer... would you potentially throw it all away for this one task?"

"Would _you_? Mesmyn, we have never had an opportunity like this since our kind's Fall. It is not something to be taken lightly, and I, for one, will not be known as the Seer who was too preoccupied with the here and now, to do what was best for her people!"

"Teltyra, I don't want to lose you like I lost our brother. He went on a mission like this, but wound up fed straight to the bowels of She Who Thirsts by a mon'keigh weapon!"

"Do you not think I know this? Do you not think I hurt too, from his absence? This is a chance, Mesmyn, for us to avenge his death, for our kind to make some progress against the slow death we have been suffering for thousands of years. No, sister, I cannot back down from this. I appreciate all you've done for me, for being my sister and confidant when times were hard, but this... this is different. You can't come with me, no matter how much we both may want it. You need to stay here, and keep this station safe alongside the other Banshees."

Her sister gave a little pout, the same she always did when she realized she had lost the argument. "So then... where will you go? Where will you search for this relic?"

"I am not sure exactly, but the Path will guide me towards our prize. Deep within the mon'keigh imperium, it resides, alone atop a mossy mountain. Many shadowed faces wander past, of all species, but the one that is brightest is also the most troubling, for it is like and unlike a mon'keigh's own. Alone but surrounded, filled with life yet more ancient than we can comprehend: it is this that we search for."

"That is quite the vision. What do you think it means?"

"I do not know, it is still too early to tell. However, this is no mere vision, that has been witnessed in times of meditation. I have even seen it in my dreams, as have others attuned to the path of the Seer."

"Will you go by yourself?"

"Mesmyn, I will be protected by a significant number of troops, all willing to give their lives that I might succeed in this task. Our corsairs have been outfitted with the best we have, both in armament, equipment, and troops. We would not be committing this much to one singular goal unless it were absolutely necessary."

"What about Fengil?"

"What about her?"

"What does she think about this? You have left her behind to go on missions before, but this... this is something new to her, to all of us."

"She... understands what I must do, that I have a job to do for our people, one that makes being a mother secondary."

Mesmyn snorted. "So, is that why she was shouting the other night? And slamming that door?"

Teltyra nodded, a slow, sad little nod. "Yes, she's still young, but will get over it when I return. Take care of her while I'm gone, will you? You're the only close family she has, Mesmyn."

"That I will, Teltyra, that I will." With that, the two pulled one another close in a great hug.

* * *

"So, I take it you're Prollarius?"

"Dominicus Prollarius, yes, sir. I did not expect the Inquisition to be interested in what I have to say. Most people aren't interested in a guardsman's time in service outside of a war effort."

Inquisitor Triggerus shrugged. "Yes, well, word is out that you used to be under the service of the Rogue Trader by the name of Captain Ordacius, correct?"

"Yep. Served under him for a while, until he was killed in a fight with chaos raiders. New guy that he named successor didn't force us to stay, said if we wanted to leave, then we could. Couple of the others and I joined back up with a regiment, got stationed out here, on Woebus."

The civilized world was a rather nice one within the realm of Ultima Segmentum, even if the overall mood of the planet was one of unrelenting boredom. There were no genestealer cults to worry about, the people who ruled did so fairly and justly, the air was clean and food was plentiful. It was a rather idyllic, cheerful place.

Except for the fact that it was in a danger zone. A splintering ork WAAAAGH was headed in the general direction of this planet, but there was no way of telling if they'd make landfall, or miss and land somewhere else, or even when they'd arrive. Hence, the presence of the Ultramarines was nonexistent on this world, at the ready to move in when and where the orks struck, and it had fallen to the Imperial Guard stationed there to be the first possible line of defense.

Triggerus did not want to be here if and when the orks showed up, given how little experience he had in combating them, but Baramus had insisted they track down the most likely people who had been near the area when the artifact had been recovered. So far, though, it seemed Prollarius was more inclined to talk about what had happened before then, something that was making the inquisitor's trigger finger extra twitchy. He needed to reel in him former commissar training.

"What happened before then?" Brother Baramus asked. "When you came upon the ship, did you not marvel at it's amazing significance?"

"Well, no, to us it was just an old scout ship," the guardsmen said. "I mean, yeah, we thought it was pretty cool to be as old as it was, from the Imperium's founding, but we were more curious by what might have been on it. And by we, I mean the captain. Ordacius always liked to look for things in the strangest of places, whenever he wasn't busy, and he always had this habit of picking up the strangest of things."

"You seem very educated for a guardsman," the inquisitor said.

"Well came from a big family of minor nobles. Didn't have what it took to succeed the line or become a space marine, so I joined the guard instead."

Baramus made a strange sound, like he was trying to clear his only-somewhat fleshy throat. "What was on the ship?"

"Nothing much, it was really clean if you didn't count the dust. There was an old machine spirit that told us about the ship's origin that we later brought on board the Terr'a Scion," the guardsman said, taking a long draft on his cigar. "Turns out the Emperor himself sent this ship out, after getting rid of all evidence that it had ever existed."

"So that is why we couldn't find any records of it," Triggerus muttered, his nose still stuffed from piling through countless stacks of dusty records with the techpriest. "If the Emperor himself did not want it found, then it is no wonder why it took ten thousand years for someone to stumble across it."

"Precisely," Baramus muttered. "Tell me, Prollarius, what else was in the ship?"

"A cryopod," he muttered as the clouds passed in front of the sun, casting the city they were in into a deep shade. "Some guy inside that we thawed out."

"What?" Triggerus said, one of the tendrils of Baramus the only thing stopping him from drawing his weapon. "You unfroze someone from a cryopod as old as the Imperium itself?"

"No, I think he was before then, seemed like it anyway," the guardsman said. "Talked kinda funny, called Terra "Earf" or something, and was kinda messed up. Not in the mind, but his boy, lotta faded scars all across him, like he'd been stitched back together or something."

"Well?"

"After the captain died a month later, he became captain. Wasn't a bad guy, but I kinda owed Ordacius, not him, and didn't feel like I should stay on the ship. Not to call him a bad man, no sir, but he was... different."

"What was his name?"

"He couldn't remember his birth name, from what I heard, but he did give us something to call him. I think it was S-,"

Just then, a massive roar was heard overhead, and all three, along with the rest of the city, looked up. A massive space hulk, ripping itself to piece by the sheer force of it's entry, was speeding out of the sky and towards a distant mountain range. Countless smaller chunks were falling off in burning, twisted pieces, but the things that swarmed around the outside (and falling off of it) were unmistakable.

Orks. Orks had come to Woebus.

And death came with them.

* * *

He sat in silence, as he did these days. His captors had long gone on some fool's crusade towards Holy Terra, for some odd reason, but the large man did not care. He was fed by servitors every day, but required release from his imprisonment by a written decree of someone with significant power.

Former captain Titus had been cleared of all charges for possible chaotic corruption, but it had hurt him deeply to be suspected of such a thing. His loyalty to the Imperium and the Emperor were unquestioned, and along with the face of an unassuming woman, those were the things that had kept him going during his torturous confession sequences. The Codex Astartes was always to be looked to for guidance, but to follow it blindly, and not look deeper into it's meaning, was why so many of his former brothers were helpless to adapt to new and changing ways. He, on the other hand, knew to look ahead, to change strategy as needed, but look what that had done to him.

Alone. Imprisoned. Forever tainted with charges of heresy, even if he had been eventually and torturously proven innocent.

Now, all he had to do, was wait to be released, though if and when he was, he was unsure of what to do next, something that had not happened to him in a long time. Should he return to the Ultramarines and try to rejoin with them? Should he join Deathwatch as a disgraced ex-Ultramarine? Or did he try and seek a new purpose in life, one where his skills and his mindset would be of a great addition to whatever cause for the Imperium he took a part of? Dare he try and reconnect with Lieutenant Mira, if she still lived, or would she reject him after this long apart?

Only time would tell. So, until then, he waited in quiet contemplation.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The _Terra's Scion_ drifted silently in orbit over the planet of Mastuonus Prime. With the factories of Vaeria Prime now set to churn out more of his new agriculturally-minded vehicles, Solomon had returned to discuss matters with the governor once again. Well, he'd technically been invited to talk progress, and as such, most of his crew was either training or taking a break on the ship.

Meanwhile, astropath Pontius sat quietly in his room aboard the cruiser, seemingly asleep to those who knew nothing of psykers. He was, in fact, very busy, at the bequest of Solomon. News was hard to come by if you didn't have an astropath actually listening for it, especially in so remote a corner of the Imperium, so the eyeless man sat alone, concentrating. His mind drifted through the vast interconnecting hub connected by the telepathic link between all his fellow astropaths. News of all manner, good, bad or strange, drifted through his subconscious, his mind sifting through it for anything of note. Reports of a massive decrease in the number of Inquisition members, a red menace running over children on Holy Terra, a crusade striking towards the very heart of the Eye of Terror...

A bright series of alerts came flooding in from another portion of the galaxy, deep within the Ultima Segmentum, almost unbalancing him. Images of blood, explosions, death and destruction, the cries of war from a horde of green monsters...

If he had had eyes anymore, Pontius would have opened them in shock. However, he was made of tougher stuff, both by will of his position and the means by which he had attained it. With practiced calm he rose to his feet, as swift and silent as a predatory feline from a death world. "I must inform the captain at once," he whispered, and with that, he was off through the ship's myriad corridors, the little bell around his neck sounding forth to warn of his approach.

* * *

"So, Solomon, what do you think of your recruits?"

"Very obedient, though I'd prefer if they spent less time asking about when they'll see action, and more time training," Solomon replied, accepting another glass of aged wine from the governor. "If I can have my way, they won't see it until I know they're ready. No sense in wasting lives just because they're itching for a fight."

"Well, it's in the nature of the Imperial Guard to seek combat, to fight the foes of the Imperium," Delvidia said simply. "Becoming a guardsmen is a dream amongst many, and a surefire death for many more. The fact that many might die before they see their second year doesn't even phase them: such a probability comes with the job."

"Yeah, well, I'd prefer they were a bit more ready than just tossing them against an enemy army," he muttered, taking a sip. It was surprisingly good, though thankfully was not high in alcohol. He didn't want to run the risk of liking the stuff too much and become a drunkard.

"You can only train them so much before you run out of things to do," the governor said. "Experience, in my life, has always been much more useful than any form of training was. It's easy to forget what you've been taught, but so much harder to forget what you've experienced for yourself. Besides, war is inevitable, and I'm sure you'll try and save as many as you can when the time comes for battle. Just remember, Solomon, the wars of man are far too vast for one person to reverse, let alone change completely. There will always be victories, and there will always be defeats. Just remember that the lives spent today give the Imperium the chance to live until tomorrow."

"It just pains me knowing that I'll probably lose a lot of my troops in any significant engagement." Solomon really did not want his men to fight in the slugfests he had learned were an all-too common engagement in this day and age, but if an enemy came calling, what was he to do? Run? They'd mutiny if he were seen as a coward, and he wasn't the kind to kill his own just to keep order. No, victories kept order, and heroic deeds maintained morale. If nothing came his way, eventually, they'd grow restless. He couldn't have that.

"All commanders who fear for the lives of their troops are the kind of men soldiers are glad to die for," Delvidia said with a sad smile. "My great-great grandfather was a guardsmen, served in over four wars over the course of thirty years. Died on the plains of some feral world after he saved a large number of civilians from a chaos warband, his wife and children among them, who came here and integrated themselves into a strange new society."

"Sounds like quite the man."

"Oh, from what I've read, he was. The stories left by the troops that served under him, from the men he pulled to safety under countless enemy barrages and sieges, serve as a reminder that if you care for your troops, their loyalty will never be called into question. Treat them well, save as many as you can, and care for those who have suffered, and they will always have your back."

Well, hard to argue with that, even if there were plenty examples of that not being the case. Then again, maybe it was for the best he didn't point that out. He was in _her_ mansion, drinking _her_ wine, as _her_ guest. Solomon did not want to push too hard, lest he lose her as an ally.

Suddenly, there were footsteps approaching at a rapid pace, and before long a messenger came running in from his shuttle, looking wide-eyed and anxious. He was a young man, one of the newer guardsmen recruits from this very world.

"Yes, what is it?" Solomon asked. "What is your name?"

"Private Vanem Catillo, sir," the young man said, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "Your shuttle received a report from Pontius. He said it was urgent that you contact him immediately."

He raised an eyebrow. Pontius was never one to send a message to him like this, usually waiting for him to return to the ship before letting him know of developments. "I see," he said, before turning back to the governor. "I must go, my astropath would not have contacted me in such a way unless it were of extreme importance."

"Until we meet again then, Solomon," Delvidia said with a smile, raising her glass of wine in a toast as he turned and left.

* * *

The crew aboard the _Terra's Scion_ were unusually silent. All had gathered in the largest rooms possible, and those that could not were listening with great intent to the vox speakers the jutted out of nearly every corner of the ship. They had no idea as to why the drills, flight training and close quarters combat routines had all been suddenly cancelled, but they knew it had to be something big, judging from the message detailing them to convene together as much as possible.

"Crew of the _Terra's Scion_ ," Captain Solomon's voice rang out, clear as crystal. "I have received word of an event unfolding in the Ultima Segmentum."

There was a slight pause. "The planet of Woebus has been invaded by orks. Their planet lies within the realms of Ultramar, and thus falls under the jurisdiction of the Ultramarines. However, they are stretched thin at the moment, and cannot send the needed troops in so short amount of time as the planet needs. The distress calls have been sent far and wide, and even now, Imperium forces gather to defend the world. Guardsmen and space marines alike on on their way, but many will take time to get there, time the citizens of Woebus do not have. We are much closer than many of the other Imperial forces, and as such, I have chosen to aid in their plight, and in doing so, so will you."

Everyone gasped in some way or another, even as their looks of shock began to morph into looks of unbridled enthusiasm. Yes, their first fight for the Imperium! How exciting!

The vox chirped one last time. "Grab your gear and get suited up. We're headed to Woebus to kick some greenskin ass!"

The great cheer that rang throughout the ship seemed to shake the very floor.

* * *

"How long until we reach the Woebus system?"

Syngra looked up from her consoles, her tendrils flailing wildly as she made numerous calculations and adjustments. "We should be there within a few months of real-time."

"A few months? Can't this ship go any faster?" He did not want to spend too long in the Warp, even though Solomon knew their Gellar fields were in tip-top shape. The absolute last thing he wanted was some damned demon incursion on his ship.

"I am afraid not. The Warp, as you know, is not something to be mastered. It can be pushed, prodded, encouraged to do our will, but never made subservient. For us, the journey will most likely be no more than a few days."

"Relativistic travel?" That meant whatever troops he had left back on the moon of Talmanjir would be much more trained that the ones he was currently traveling with. That also meant whatever experimental weapons he had left with those guardsmen would be fully tested, and if not fiddled with, would need either remodeling or fine tuning if there were any problems.

"Afraid so, sir," Syngra said with a shrug of her mechanical tendrils. "We've been lucky, only needing a few days at most to make all of our stops. The vast distances of space mean that, the longer we spend in the Warp, the more different our experiences become. Some wars are done by the time certain fleets show up: others must leave for a war before it even begins."

"Did any of the Ultramarines do so?" He realized there had to be psykers able to predict the future if forces could accurately leave for a war before it had even begun. Then again, it couldn't be too reliable of a method, or else all enemies would be defeated before they realized what had happened, right?

"From what Pontius told me, yes, they did, but so too did a large contingent of Salamanders. They will arrive there before we do, though by how much, I am not certain. Travelling great distances through the warp can be problematic if we are not careful."

"How so?"

"If we hit an eddy in the Warp current, we could be sent to our destination years after the war is ended, or worse, we could be stuck in the Warp for an untold amount of time. The latter is very rare, but it has happened."

"So... we go as carefully as we can every time, or else the worst thing I can imagine would likely be the best overall result."

"Exactly."

Solomon sighed. Here he had thought the journey would only be a few days, and while it would be for them, for the rest of the galaxy, a few months would have gone by when he got there. For all he knew, either the war would be over, or the planet would be lost. From the talks he'd had with Pontius, it would be impossible to keep in contact with both the planet and his base back on Talmanjir while they were traveling through the Immaterium.

If only there was a faster means of FTL travel. He'd have to try and get some scientists, should he find any in this day and age that weren't half robot, to investigate this possibility. If the Imperium could travel in days what it normally took months or years to travel, literally EVERYTHING would turn around in this galaxy. Wars could be fought at the drop of a hat, enemies could be struck without warning, and be left in the dust before they could retaliate. Fleets could resupply in days what it would take years to do. Psykers would no longer need to be trained and tortured just to become a creepy eyeless psychic who could communicate with other creepy eyeless psychics on other ships and planets, when FTL communications also could replace the use of the Warp.

Too bad there wasn't any known means of such a thing.

* * *

Even on a ship as nimble and comparably small (to a craftworld) as a Corsair, there were plenty of spaces to hide. Fengil was sure to keep herself hidden until she believed the ship to be as far away from Ulthwe as possible, sneaking whatever food she could without being seen. As such, when she was certain there was no turning back for the ship, and that they were as far into the mon'keigh imperium, she revealed herself to her mother and the rest of the crew, lest someone discover her and think her a spy. She thought it the best option, considering she had snuck aboard a ship destined for some of the most hostile territory to Eldar in all the galaxy.

She just hoped they wouldn't be too upset.

By Isha, was she wrong. The resulting angry outburst from her mother alone could have peeled the color off of wraithbone.

* * *

Several days had passed, and though Pontius had told him they would be arriving soon, Solomon was not happy. He had no idea if their journey had indeed taken only a few months, or if it had somehow managed to send them to another place or time altogether. He really hoped it wasn't the latter.

Solomon did the only thing he could do: practice with his lasgun and bolter pistol on the firing range. He imagined every target he hit was the face of an ork who had killed somebody on Woebus, be they a civilian, guardsmen or space marine. It was surprisingly effective, and when he told the other guardsmen to do the same, their aim improved substantially.

"Arriving in the Woebus system one minute," the shipboard vox system broadcast. Everyone had been ready for hours, but even now, there was the occasional mad dash to a weapons locker or to the supply depot to gear up. A few guardsmen here or there, from what Solomon had seen, were just waking up from naps, but he didn't mind. Let them sleep, they likely weren't going to get much in the coming days.

"Captain Solomon, we are being hailed," Adept Syngra said as he entered the bridge, fully dressed in the best armor he had. Not in appearance, but in functionality: that which he had been given by Ordacius had been augmented or upgraded in some way. His bolter pistol and supercharged lasgun ready, he turned to her.

"Who are they?"

"It would appear to be the flagship of one of the fleets of the Ultramarines," the techpriest replied. "I believe it is the _Unbroken Oath_ , sir."

Given the chapter's history, Solomon thought it a fairly fitting name. "Alright, patch us through."

"I can't sir, not until we are within range and out of the Warp."

"Right, right, warp-travel means only other psykers can communicate with Pontius. Are we almost there?"

"We should be exiting right... about... now."

Without a sound, the bridge of the Terra's Scion was no longer filled with the inky blackness of the Immaterium, and the light of many distant stars and galaxies shone dimly against a different inky blackness. However, below them, lay the planet of Woebus, and even from here, Solomon could tell things were not well. It looked as if an entire continent was smoldering, with occasional flames scorching hundreds or thousands of square miles. Around the planet, many ships of all sizes were orbiting in silence, either occasionally firing down upon what were likely ork entrenchments, or sending down shuttles and barges.

A picture appeared on the vox system, a large balding man with a tall, ornate staff and a curious helmet under one of his arms.

"I am Martessus Cenus, Librarian of the Ultramarines company stationed on Woebus," the armored man said. "To whom do I speak?"

"I am a rogue trader, Captain Solomon, of the _Terra's Scion_ ," he replied. "I received word that Woebus was under siege, and thought I could help."

"A rogue trader, come to help?" the librarian asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "I cannot say I'm not surprised."

"Why is that?"

"Rogue traders do not usually answer a call for help unless it is a mandatory summon," the Ultramarine replied. "Fairly strange, you see, for one to volunteer to aid in such a fight. Do not get me wrong, your wish to assist in this war in greatly appreciated, and I shall be happy to fill you in on the details."

Solomon nodded. "Okay then, Mr. Cenus, tell me what you know."

The news was not good. The war had started out well enough, all things considered, with the orks cordoned off from the majority of the world. But, despite all they had thrown at it, the local guardsmen had been consistently pushed back, suffering grievous losses with every major confrontation. When the Ultramarines had finally arrived, along with a detachment of Salamanders a week later, almost half the planet was in ruins, and whatever civilians that had not been killed in the fighting had retreated to the largest cities, most of which were being defended at all costs. The combined forces of the space marines and remaining planetary defenders had driven many of the smaller ork armies away from the last few holdouts, or had killed them entirely. However, in doing so, many smaller ork forces had joined into larger ones, and were besieging many of these strongholds once more.

As such, the planet was currently undergoing a massive evacuation effort, which they had been unable to do as the initial ork invasion had managed to take out many of the spacecraft with large enough holds for such refugees, as well as many of the orbital defenses. Only now, with many larger ships on hand, were such plans possible, as the orks didn't seem to care about the ships high above.

"As you can no doubt see, Woebus is in ruins, and will take decades to restore, possibly even more," the librarian finished. "Tens of millions are dead, with millions more already evacuated. However, we have a problem."

"Just one?"

"Well, another problem. Several of the smaller ork armies have surrounded one of the only routes out of one of the cities needing to evacuate, Ardentum, and we cannot punch through their anti-air defenses. We need to open up a second front, something to at least distract them, if not destroy them, so that we can move the remaining refugees out of the city and onto barges hidden amongst the larger buildings. If they try to take off with those ork cannons still operational, it will be a slaughter."

"Where is this city located?" Solomon had an idea, but the terrain needed to be just right...

"On the southernmost continent, near a large mountain range filled with plateaus. The orks are not yet in the mountains, having been occupied by Ardentum on the plains, but if the city should fall, and all within it die, they will no doubt move on through the mountains, and from there, towards the largest city, the planetary capital of Caervindus. It is already under heavy siege, and if more orks join the attack, it will undoubtedly fall."

"Where are the main concentrations of the orks around Ardentum? Out in the open?"

"They have built a crude wall around the city with whatever pieces of scrap and rubble they have been able to find, and set up a base of sorts on the "safe" side of it, all of which is surrounded by flak towers. They are a most cunning foe, this ork army, unlike most I have seen before."

"Do they have any artillery?"

"As of now, no, but it is only a matter of time before they do." He paused. "What do you plan to do, Captain Solomon?"

"Set up my own troops on their backside in the dead of night, and then attack at dawn's early light, maybe take out as many of those flak towers as I can before they realize what's up," he replied. "After that, I should be able to provide enough covering fire that your troops should be able to get the rest of the civilians out of there, and maybe crush the ork army while we're at it."

"I will hold you to that, captain," Librarian Cenus said. "Anything you can do would be sorely appreciated. We are running out of options, men and supplies down there. With courage and honor, may your assault be successful."

With that, the vox winked out.

Solomon turned to face the planet down below, the fires of a thousand burnt cities stirring within him an anger he hadn't felt before. Justified? No, something more emotionally charged, filled with an almost religious connotation...

Righteous. That was it: righteous anger. He didn't like war, but realized now, more than ever, it was necessary to ensure humanity's survival. If humanity was at war, then so was he, and he would do his damnedest to save as many as he could.

"Syngra, assemble the men," he said, his grip tightening on his sidearm. "We're making planetfall the moment the sun sets on Ardentum."

* * *

The orks did not bother to post sentries in the mountains behind them, likely because the only enemy they were paying attention to were those trapped in the city in front of them. If they had, they would have been met with supercharged lasgun fire from thirty five thousand guardsmen disembarking from well over a thousand shuttles under the cover of darkness. Countless guns batteries, artillery pieces, missiles and vehicles chugged out of the larger transports, and within hours of sundown, there was an entire base of operations set up overlooking the ork army.

Solomon had designated Syngra and Pontius to stay aboard the Terra's Scion, not because he didn't need them, but because the two of them were needed to relay information between him and his own ship, other Imperium ships, and the friendly forces on the ground.

Also, Syngra was busy with a side project of his, and he really didn't want to pull her away from a potential breakthrough concerning anti-ork capabilities.

"Private Catillo, are all the trenches set?" The dim light of hundreds of dimmed lanterns filled the area with an eerie series of glows, indistinguishable from the countless fireflies that seemed to blink every now and then across the forests and hills. Most of everything else was swallowed by inky darkness, so much so that Solomon could not see most of his own troops.

"Yes captain, as well as the mortar pits," the guardsmen said with a salute. "We don't have time for bunkers, and none of us can dig or fortify like Death Korps of Krieg troopers."

"That's quite all right, I doubt we'll be here long enough to need a bunker system," Solomon replied. "Now, if anyone needs me, I'll be up on the command tower, overlooking the battle. The enemy does not know we are here and thus we will wait for dawn's early light to commence the attack, unless otherwise provoked." He did not want to use any flares, as they would undoubtedly give away their position, and they would thus lose the element of surprise. That, and the orks would simply follow the flashes of light towards his own troops.

He also did not want to fight orks in the dark, not only because the resulting pandemonium could result in far too many incidents of friendly fire, but the imagery of orks rushing out of the dark, roaring and slashing ans shooting, would likely drive many of the guardsmen, especially the newer ones, into a panicked retreat. Better to fight them in the day, where the mystique and fear of the unseen menaces in the darkness were rendered null by the light of the system's star.

"You will not in a command tent, sir?" Private Catillo asked, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Of course not, if I can see what's going on once it gets bright out, I can more directly affect it," he said. "Besides, me being half a mile back is bad for orders if the vox comms go out or something. I can't have runners wasting precious time sending messages back and forth if the battlefield is changing too fast for me to react."

"What of enemy snipers?"

"The command tower isn't really a tower, but more of an impromptu bunker built into an old cave system. I mean, sure, it's not entirely sturdy like a real, but it should do the job."

What if the enemy shoots at it? The weapons of greenskins are notoriously dangerous to both their target and their users, and have no real set limits. I've heard stories from some of the older guardsmen of ork shotguns sniping unlucky troops during a firefight, sometimes even hitting commissars."

"Well, a commissar shouldn't be standing on top of a trench in broad daylight unless he has a death wish, and the same goes for any one of you," Solomon said. If the fire gets heavy, I don't want any of you making stupid charges at the enemy. The average ork is big and strong enough to rip you guys apart, I don't want to have to bury any of you in different piles after this is done."

"Will they reach us?" Even in the dim light of a covered lantern, Solomon could see the bead of sweat drip down the private's face. Better to just tell them the truth rather than sugarcoat the situation.

"As soon as we start shooting at them, yeah, probably." He paused, imagining he'd look pretty cool munching on a cigar. He didn't know if those still existed either, but they probably did, just not made of tobacco. "Don't worry about it, this isn't a massive waaagh. Should they come at us, right into the face-melting power of our guns, the space marines and other guardsmen over in the city will surely realize something's up, and attack that wall they've set up. That is, if we can draw off most of those orks."

"We're the distraction?"

"More like the anvil, and the city's forces are the hammer. Now, get to your position, and don't fire until I give the order."

With a nod and a salute, Private Catillo scurried off, weaving his way through piles of ammunition and spare parts. Solomon, in turn, walked off towards the impromptu bunker/tower he had helped the guardsmen set up. It really looked rickety, like a strong breeze or a pair of aggressively mating birds might make it fall apart, but it would be from where he would direct his troops.

Not on the front line.

There was more at stake than just this city, this battle, or this planet. He was going to take risks, many of them in fact, but in regards to his own life, not near as many. It wasn't cowardice, Solomon kept telling himself, it was practicality. The two voices in his head had told him he had a grand destiny of sorts, one that would require many allies of many different backgrounds. He could not afford to blindly charge into battle and expect to win every time.

Solomon knew he knew almost nothing of single combat with his sword, despite all the swings he used on practice dummies in the training room. No, he'd need a real teacher for that, but until then, he would do as mankind had done once gunpowder had been invented.

Shoot it until it was dead, and if not sure, shoot it some more.

So, with his heart heavy with the knowledge that tomorrow would bring untold bloodshed, he set himself up at his command table, a map laid out before him. The most senior guardsmen under his command were down in the trenches with the recruits, impromptu sergeants for when the time came. The enemy, once they realized they were under fire, would undoubtedly come their way.

Solomon only hoped his link to the _Terra's Scion_ , and thus to the rest of the Imperium's forces on and around this world, would not be destroyed. Without it, he'd be fighting blind, without any way of calling for backup or being able to lend support. The rest of his guardsmen were on his ship, waiting on standby with the newer attack craft Syngra had helped to design, waiting for a signal to begin an attack.

He could only hope such a signal would not be a desperate one.

 **A/N: yes, I know there are faster FTL methods in this universe (Necron inertia-less drives, webways, etc), but Solomon doesn't know of them. In future chapters, there will be definitely more Eldar involvement/shenanigans, and I've been told their language is rather complex. If anyone knows how they would speak, feel free to PM me or leave a review, I'd greatly appreciate it. Also, chapter ten will likely be much larger than any previous chapters, so don't expect an update _too_ soon after this one, as I'll be putting a lot into it.**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

 **A/N: well, this is a long one, and boy, did it take quite a bit to write. Enjoy!**

A red sky greeted the weary defenders of the city of Ardentum, likely from the haze of countless fires burning across the planet of Woebus. Countless streets were filled with rubble, the aftereffects of a siege that had reduced a once bustling metropolis to a shadowy ruin. Smoking, charred remains of both vehicle and being alike, be they orks, space marines or imperial guardsmen, lay scattered where they had fallen, either alone or in piles. Whatever was not charred was soaked in blood, many rivers of them still flowing into the city's sewer systems and out into a large marsh on the far end. Much of it was as red as the morning sky.

Everything was deathly still, save for the occasional rodent or carrion birds the peeked out from their feasts. Many that had fed with abandon were too bloated to fly or run, and many more had died during sudden skirmishes. As such, only the wary scavengers lived to pass on their genes, save for the countless swarms of carrion insects that seemed to be on nearly every surface.

It disgusted the Ultramarine Captain Timon Margentus. All of this carnage, all the wasted lives of the peoples his chapter had sworn to protect, all because of those wretched greenskins. Their foul ways of using the very remains of Imperium vehicles used to kill their countless numbers to then kill the soldiers of the Imperium... it was as maddeningly frustrating as it was ironic. Even now, behind that damn wall that had cut off their means of escape, the xenos continued to build more weapons, create more engines of death, and grow stronger from the infighting that always followed them.

"My lord?"

Margentus turned from the window. One of the guardsmen, a veteran of this war, was saluting him.

"Speak, Prollarius," he said. This one had been fighting the orks since almost day one, and as such, was perhaps now the most experienced guardsmen on the planet when it came to fighting the greenskin menace. A promotion and a slew of commendations was almost certain, should he survive long enough to receive them.

"My lord, our supplies are running low, and the women and children are not used to such harsh conditions as we soldiers. Even, if by the Emperor's grace the orks do not attack us in the near future, I am afraid they won't last much longer without more supplies. They are weak enough as it is from lack of food and the constant fear of death."

"How long until they begin to succumb?"

"A week at most, though given our situation... most likely less than that, my lord."

The space marine captain shook his head solemnly. In wars where death tolls measured in the untold billions, it never became easy to lose those he was sworn to protect. Be they civilians, guardsmen or his own space marines, their faces he would always remember. This was his gift, this was his burden, his curse: to fight for those who could not fight for themselves, to kill so that others would live. Such was the galaxy they now lived in.

"Then we shall continue to hold out as long as we can," he finally replied. "The air defenses of the orks have made large supply drops all but impossible, as well as any attempted bombing raids, and we can't evacuate until they are destroyed. Any ship that leaves the ground would be shot to pieces very shortly, with all on board doomed to a violent death. On top of that, they are far too close to our positions to risk an orbital bombardment." The ork weapons were surprisingly effective against aircraft, but then again, ork weapons seemed to work against pretty much anything. If only they knew the secret of how that was possible, then maybe they could turn the tide against the greenskin menace.

"What of reinforcements? The Salamander captain claims many more of their battle brothers are en route to help retake the planet, but that could be months away. By then, the whole world could be lost to the damned greenskins, and what forces we have are nowhere numerous enough to retake it as of now."

"You know as well as I that my fellow battle brothers are engaged elsewhere on this world, Prollarius, just as other guardsmen battle their own ork foes," the space marine said. "Even if they could spare anyone from their own engagements, I am afraid that doing so would just as likely destroy them as it would save us. All we can do now is hold the line, it would seem."

Just then, a series of rapid footsteps came up from the base of the stairs, and with trained reflexes, the two soldiers turned, weapons at the ready. Ork raids were rare, but they had lost too many in the first weeks to not be careful. Kommandos painted in purple were surprisingly effective in urban situations, especially under the cover of darkness.

Rounding a corner, the two holstered their weapons at the sight of the figure. "Tiberius, what is the matter? Are we under attack?"

"No, honorable battle brother, a voice just came through on the vox, by way of our ships in orbit," the space marine said, lugging a personal vox, with a battle-scarred techpriest following close behind. Well, personal to a space marine: it would have taken no less than three normal guardsmen to lug one around. "He said he wished to speak with you."

"Very well, patch us through. Prollarius, you may leave us. Go see to the women and children."

With a nod and a salute, the guardsmen left.

After fiddling with some knobs, and giving the old vox a rub with oil for good measure, the techpriest backed away as the image came through. It was a very blurry portrait of a man in a rather dark room, but the sound was clear enough for all to hear.

"Am I speaking with Captain Margentus?"

"Yes, with whom am I?"

"This is Captain Solomon of the _Terra's Scion_ , a rogue trader by occupation. I recently arrived in the system after receiving the planet's distress call sent several months ago. I was briefed of the situation by your chapter librarian, Cetus, and wish to be of assistance."

A rogue trader, coming to assist in a war with no obvious value? "That is most… unexpected an offer, good sir," Margentus said.

"I get that a lot these days. My men and I are set up on the far side of the ork's encampment, up in the mountains and hills. We are ready to assist in your evacuation, and, willing, the destruction of this ork army."

Tiberius and Margentus exchanged looks of mild shock, and given that they were space marines, that was indeed something unto itself. Even the techpriest made a small buzzing noise, an apparent indication of him trying to process something he had not expected at all. "That is… well, that sounds too good to be true, Captain Solomon. The orks have had us trapped here for quite some time, long enough that we were beginning to wonder if any more help had arrived. What do you have in mind?"

"I've been told you have a problem with those ork flak towers. If you ready yourselves to evacuate as many as you can, I can assure you they won't be a problem."

Margentus didn't want to believe it, but if what this captain was saying was true, then… those under his protection needn't die to starvation or ork gunfire. They could live, survive, tell their descendants of this day, continue to serve the cause of humanity and the future of the Imperium.

"By the God-Emperor, we accept. We shall marshal all we have, and make do to evacuate. We have enough supplies for one final push."

"Very well then. When you see the signal, you'll be free to begin your attack."

"What will this signal be?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

Later…

"Oi, Hollabak, wazzat ova dere?"

The greenskin looked up from the fungus burger he had been scarfing down from atop one of the many flak towas. "I dunno, Toofdekay, looks like a buncha humies ta me."

"Humies? Whazzay doin' ova dere?"

"Dunno, boss said all da humies were in da city. Whaddaya tink de's doin' wif dose big shootas?"

"Iz zey aimin dem at us?"

"By Gork 'n Mork, I think yu's riyt," he replied. "We sheuwd tell tha boss."

"Oy, let's do dis den," Toofdekay said, picking up his shoota-choppa… just in time for a massive blast to strike him, Hollabak, and the entire flak towa. In an instant, there was nothing left, save for a scorched hole in the ground and an extra-crispy fungus burger flying off towards the sunset.

Another blast caught the orks by surprise, though considering the combined intelligence of an ork army, minus the warboss and mek boyz, was often slightly greater than the intelligence of a singular fungus burger, almost anything could take them by surprise.

Another flak towa exploded in a fiery deluge of smoke, leaving nothing but the scattered, charred remains of what had once been orks. By now, everybody was hollering for the warboss, who had been sleepin' in a tent. Considering orks didn't really need sleep as a species, the fact that this army believed they needed it meant they actually did need it. Then again, if they believed the color purple would render them invisible to the enemy, somehow, it did: such was the nature of orks.

That, and the boss loved snuggling with his stuffed gretchin. Not that he'd tell any of the boyz, they'd think him weird enough for skinning a gretchin, nevermind stuffing the remains with some random bits of scrap cloth he had found in that village they'd burnt to the ground.

"Boss, boss, boss!" a voice shouted, running into the tent just as another massive explosion decimated a far-off flak towa. "Sum humies got around us and dey'z shootin' at our towas!"

"Wotzat?" Warboss Ellbowdrawp muttered, hastily hiding the stuffed gretchin under a rock pillow. It was actually hard to wake him up some mornings, unless someone challenged his leadership. Then he got up and crushed them right under his bootz.

"Dey'z shootin' at us!"

He blinked, a plan forming in his incredibly small mind as he stepped out of his tent. "Awlrite then, boyz, getcha shootas and choppas, and let'z go git 'em!" he roared, his massive bulk and loud voice a commanding presence in the ork camp. "For da waaagh!"

With gleeful shouts and hollers, the orks grabbed whatever gear they could, all of it completely ridiculous shit but still somehow deadly, and rushed off towards the humies up in the hills overlooking them.

* * *

"I can't believe it, the orks are abandoning their camp," guardsman Prollarius muttered, putting down his binoculars.

"They are? Are they falling back elsewhere?" Inquisitor Triggerus asked. His original, clean robes had been so charred, drenched in blood and dirt, and riddled with bullet holes that it seemed it was being held together by mere spit and prayers. By now, he was all out of spit.

"No, Inquisitor, a Rogue Trader captain has come to our aid and is drawing them away, giving you and the other civilians the chance to evacuate," Captain Margentus said as another flak tower exploded off in the distance. Whatever firepower that captain was using on those towers, it was very effective. "We remaining forces shall then assault the orks from the rear, and with the Emperor's guiding hand, destroy this army once and for all."

"Then we mustn't dally," techpriest Baramus said, urging the Inquisitor along. "Come now, once we are free from this planet, we may continue our search."

"Can we go to a paradise world for a month?" There was almost a pleading tone in the voice of Triggerus: almost. He would like nothing more than to never look at an ork again for the rest of his life.

"If the clues lead us there, then yes, we shall."

Captain Margentus shook his head as the pair disappeared, along with throngs of civilians, into the waiting refugee ships. All their talk about "ancient relics" and "the trail led to Woebus" and "our witnesses are almost all dead" had began to grow wearisome for him to listen to. If they had been at peace, then he would have undoubtedly been interested in what they had to say. Right now, though, he wished for nothing more than to them simply evacuate safely and leave him alone to do his duty.

"Prollarius, are the remaining guardsmen ready?" His own Ultramarines stood beside him, prepared to face the enemy that had had them trapped for so long. If not for their professionalism and strict code of conduct, courtesy of the Codex Astartes, one could almost say they were glad they were going to be striking back for once. That damned wall had claimed far too many battle brothers in far too many a pointless assault. Now, it would be different.

"As ready as we'll ever be, my lord," the smaller man replied. "I sent the most injured off with the women and children. The rest are awaiting your orders."

"Captain Sha'Nel, are your Salamanders ready for the assault?"

The Salamander captain nodded, his large flamer at the ready. Behind him, many more Salamanders also brandished their own flamers and bolters, ready to fight for the glory of the Imperium, as they had done for ten thousand years.

"Then, move out!" Margentus shouted, just as another flak tower in the distance exploded. "May the Emperor's grace protect you from harm! Courage and honor!"

With a nod, the pilots of the evac ships started their engines and began to rise into the air. The ground troops, on the other hand, began the long march through the ruins of the city, towards the wall the orks had constructed.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the valley, at the foot of the mountains…

"Make every shot count!" Solomon shouted, taking aim with one of his larger lascannons after the gunner had been shredded by an ork grenade's shrapnel. "Your lasguns cannot fire as rapidly as the old ones without melting in your hands, so actually aim!" He had long abandoned his cave-bunker, as his messages to the troops were getting either distorted or needed to be changed shortly after he sent the message. That, and his vox communications had been severed in the cave by a stray ork rokkit, meaning he and his troops were on their own. They could not call in any air support, and by the time his ships got there, would there even be anyone left to support?

"What about our artillery, sir?!" one of the commanding veteran guardsmen asked. The orks had approached must faster than any of them had anticipated, even with all of their vehicles now lying in burning wrecks along the valley. "Who do we aim for?"

"Keep pouring it on them, take out the biggest ones first! They're the biggest threats right now!"

The orks, they just kept coming, no matter how many they moved down, no matter how many were torn apart, set afire, or disintegrated by their weapons. They seemed to have no sense of fear, no sense of self-preservation, and no idea how many of their fellows were dying. Then again, maybe they just didn't care.

"Sir, what about the wounded?" Another guardsmen, a newer recruit, dragged along a pair of others, both of whom were bleeding from either the chest or legs. They were still coherent enough to moan loudly in pain, a sound that managed to transcend the deafening chaos of the battlefield. The piles of the wounded were stacking up extremely fierce: entire groups of guardsmen were now dedicated corpsmen, dragging the most severely injured behind the front lines and trying to tend to their wounds. Their screams mingled with the cacophony of the battlefield, producing a literal hellscape of the sounds of death and destruction.

Solomon fired again at a large cluster of orks, sending bits of them flying down onto their comrades. "Pull them back if they can't fight! If they can still shoot, then prop them up and give them something to shoot with!"

Even as they destroyed that last, now-abandoned flak tower, more orks kept coming their way, a seemingly endless wave of green skin, bared teeth, wild eyes, and shredded, awfully sharp-looking metal. Many of the forward trenches were either overrun or abandoned altogether, the dead crushed under the weight of countless green feet and bodies. Those who had lived to pull back were doing their damnedest not to fall back more, but the horde just kept coming. Bodies of both guardsmen and ork lay everywhere, rivers of blood churning the open ground into a muddy mess.

Just as a much larger ork rushed towards him, one bristling with weapons and wielding what looked like a club with a trio of chainsaws protruding from the tip, Solomon, surrounded by explosions and death, took aim with his lascannon and fired.

* * *

"There's nobody here!" Prollarius called from atop the scrap wall.

"Not one single ork?" Sha'Nel called.

"Only a couple dead ones, that's about it."

The space marines, being too large to climb as nimbly as the guardsmen had done, instead fastened several explosives together in a pile and detonated them, creating a hole large enough for their soldiers to march through. Indeed, it was just as Prollarius had told them. All of the flak towers were either in ruins or just outright gone, and several ork vehicles lay burning here or there as well.

Margentus noticed most of the orks, though, were not lying dead in their base. No, there was a veritable trail of them, leading away from camp, and up into the hills, towards the mountains where Captain Solomon had told him he had stationed his own forces. That army had been substantial, and orks were known for their ferocity and lust for battle. Indeed, it was all they knew.

"Sha'Nel, we must make all haste to our ally's aid," the Ultramarine captain said. "I fear they may have paid the most dear price for the evacuation of the city."

"Then hurry we shall."

As the group of space marines and guardsmen marched as fast as they could, it was apparent that the progress of the orks had been a grueling one. Blasted remnants of ork vehicles, still burning in the midmorning light, lay everywhere along the valley. Countless orks, many in pieces or missing large portions of their bodies, lay strewn around like garbage spilled from a waste container. Ork weapons lay where they had fallen, often right beside their previous owners.

A smaller but no less deadly version of an enemy gargant lay flat on its face, the lower half shredded to pieces, with ork limbs sticking out from beneath it. Everywhere an ork stirred, a bolter round or flamer ended its continued existence, and strangely, there weren't many of them stirring.

As they reached the foot of the hills that led into the mountains, greater and greater piles of bodies lay before them. Greenskins ranging in size from minute gretchins, all the way up to massive, four meter-tall orks covered head to toe in scrap metal armor. However, many of these dead had not died from long-range artillery, but many charred holes burnt right through their torsos or heads. Some were so riddled with holes it was amazing that they were still in one piece.

"These were not bolter rounds," Sha'Nel noted. "These scorch marks are more in line with those of a lasgun."

"I ain't ever seen a lasgun do damage like that since… well, back when I was still on the Terra's Scion," Prollarius muttered.

"What do you mean? Did you have a more powerful variant?" the Salamander captain asked.

"No, this… this new guy we had, he switched his battery pack around on a standard one," the smaller man replied as they continued on. "When that chaos warband raided us, one of the chaos marines he shot… he blew right through the thing's armor like it wasn't even there, vaporized his head and all."

"Truly?" Margentus asked, his interest piqued. "Was he reprimanded later for fiddling with his weapon?"

"No, nobody really thought of doing that. Everything was in such a state of disarray we just couldn't take the time do so. Besides, Ordacius named him captain before he died, so I don't think any of us were in a rush to criticize or reprimand him."

"He did? By chance, what was this man's name?"

"I think it was So-,"

"Captain! Orks!"

The three turned to see a mass of orks rushing towards them, eyes wild and weapons slashing through the air as a fogged rolled in down from the mountains. Yet, even as the entire group opened up, ripping them to shreds, one of the orks further in the back fell to the ground, neatly sliced down the middle. As the front orks fell, screaming as they burned, another ork in the back of the pack was lifted into the air, his body riddled with countless blasts. He fell back to the ground as a charred husk. Yet another ork simply exploded, showering the area in bits of green chunks.

It was over in less than a minute. As the last of the orks fell to bolters and flamers, Captain Margentus watched as one much larger ork tried crawling away from the sudden fog and towards their own lines, one of his arms missing, but the other still wielding a massive chainsaw club. Only, as he turned back to look while he crawled, there was a loud swish through the air, and his head was suddenly flung from his shoulders. The slumped torso was then struck bright blast, burning a whole straight through where the heart would be.

Weapons still at the ready, the space marines and guardsmen watched as a lone figure emerged from the fog, a strange sword held at his side, blood covering him from head to toe. More figures emerged as a sudden wind blew the fog away, revealing a great mass of soldiers, many with weapons hanging limply at their sides. Many fell to their knees and wretched, coughing up blood or vomit. Some began to cry, and others laugh, embracing one another.

"Captain Margentus?"

The space marine blinked: the blood-soaked swordbearer had spoken his name. The captain took a step forward. "Yes, I am Margentus."

"Was that the last of them?" There was no rage, no sadness, no emotion in his voice at all. His eyes ust stared blankly ahead, seemingly right through the space marine.

"The orks? It would seem so, none made it past our lines." Margentus had seen this before, in normal humans who had suffered through a great battle, whether for the first time or through a terrible one: the man was in some form of shock. The fighting must have been fierce. "What happened here?"

"They... they just kept coming, wave after wave of them. We had to fall back, back to our reserves. So many bodies, blood everywhere. We funneled the orks into a narrow pass, shredded them apart with whatever we still had. Then the fog rolled in, there seemed to be less of them, then they seemed to get confused, so we charged... then we found you."

A hard-won battle indeed. "Tell your men to stand down, the battle is over."

"Did the civilians make it?" The man dropped to one knee, his sword nearly falling from his grasp, many of his troops behind him slumping to the ground in pure exhaustion.

"Yes, they safely evacuated, thanks to you, Captain Solomon."

Despite the blood, the man smiled, which seemed more like a grimace than anything. "Well, that's good to hear. I'm going to need some help. I have a lot of men dead, and many more wounded who need care."

"We will do what we can," Captain Sha'Nel said, motioning to his fellow Salamanders. "Spread out, tend to the wounded as best you can. Guardsmen, likewise."

"Ultramarines, secure the perimeter, and make sure all of the greenskins are dead," Captain Margentus added. "Captain Solomon, I should like to have a word with you in the near future."

"Sure, sure thing," Solomon replied, right before he slumped over into the bloodied dirt.

* * *

"We are now further into the mon'keigh imperium than ever before," the captain told Teltyra. "Our pace must be slow, lest they catch on to our presence."

"Better slow, steady and alive than quick, rushed and dead," the Seer replied. "We must be patient and have faith that Isha's will shall guide us to this fragment of her. How long before we reach our first destination?"

"The system the mon'keign know as Mastuonus? Several months, perhaps more. It is difficult to judge with how many longer routes we must take to avoid detection."

"What of the signs we have received of the shard moving? My visions have shown it over a world, filled with death and orks."

"Yes, the others have felt such a shift as well, though fret we shall not. We will continue to the system, as so we have ordained. The shard has been elsewhere before, but something brings it back to that one system in particular."

"I shall inform the others," Teltyra muttered.

* * *

Solomon grimaced as the surgeon worked him over in the Terra's Scion infirmary. They had long run out of any form of anesthetic, whether medicinal or alcoholic, to dull the pain, having used it up on so many of his troops, many of whom were asleep in an almost comatose state in their rooms. Thankfully, most of what he had to deal with were the occasional cuts or shrapnel wounds. It didn't make the stitching any less painful.

When the dead had been counted, it was clear he had paid dearly for his decision to come to the aid of the trapped men and women of the city of Ardentum. Nearly nine thousand of his men were dead, and nearly sixteen thousand more were injured. He would probably lose a thousand of those to their injuries as it was. His effective fighting force had been cut down to just twenty thousand, half of whom were in no condition to go back to any fight. On top of that, he'd lost a significant amount of supplies, weapons, and vehicles in the fight.

It was going to take a good month to replace all of those supplies, once he got back to Mastuonus. Thankfully he had more than enough money to do so, but replace the soldiers he had lost? It'd take some kind of miracle to do that, if his own troops didn't revolt on him first.

He hadn't promised they'd all live through their first engagement, but he hadn't thought they would have had to live through something like that. Chaos and explosions everywhere, point blank firing of cannons to halt the advance of the orks, engaging in melee without any real anti-ork training… it was awful. Every time he closed his eyes, he could… see the eyes, the faces, of those that he had watched die, that he had failed to save, that he had passed over while he and the remaining troops had chased them back.

It made him sick to his stomach knowing such a fight was but the smallest of glimpses into what this wars galaxy was currently experiencing. How could any sane person live through this and not just go completely insane? How had any commander in history felt such despair and not instantly just taken their own life?

"Captain Solomon," a voice said, snapping him out of his thoughts. Standing by his bedside was a pair of space marines, one a Salamander, the other an Ultramarine. The captains had bidden him farewell and promised to send someone to talk with him, as they had many of their own problems to deal with. The retrieval of many Salamander and Ultramarine bodies was an almost holy endeavor for their surviving brothers, and it was necessary for the captains to take part in it.

"Yes? Can I help you?" He was glad the blood had been more or less easy to wash off, save for the fact that he still smelled like a giant mushroom fart. Maybe later he'd take a cleansing bath with strong sterilization chemicals.

"I am Sergeant Tew'Pahc, and this is Brother Leandros," the Salamander said, his coal-black skin and red eyes rather unsettling. Well, at least they would have been, if Solomon had not nearly met his death several times against bellowing, wild-eyed, bloodthirsty orks not a day before. "We were sent to give you our captain's respects, and to thank you for your aid. Many would have died if not for your actions."

"Many did die," Solomon said. "My troops, men whose lives I promised to protect... nearly ten thousand in only a few hours. I'm not used to such a thing."

"I should think not," Leandros countered. "When we asked, we could not find much information on you, captain. You have not been in the sights of anyone for a long time, save for the remotest regions of the Imperium."

"I'm not sure why that matters," he grunted in reply as the mechanized surgeon finished the stitching above his temple. "I haven't done all that much since I became captain to attract much attention as it is."

"Yet you came here, to aid us," Tew'Pahc said, shooting Leandros a quick look. "That in and of itself speaks volumes of your character."

"Thanks," Solomon replied, sitting up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to my bridge. I have a feeling your captains will have more news for me, news I might not like."

The two space marines nodded and stood aside, letting the smaller man pass between them.

* * *

"Well, shit."

Solomon's groan was met with several odd stares from the vox system. Captains Sha'Nel and Margentus were both back on their ships, rearming and resupplying before their next deployment.

The news had not been as good as Solomon would have hoped. With the defeat of that ork army, the remaining forces had been able to redeploy elsewhere and provide enough support to crush the other, smaller ork armies that had tied up forces all across Woebus. A contingent of Vostroyan Firstborn had thus routed an ork army near the North Pole, and a large group of Cadians had smashed three ork armies in several narrow mountain passes to the east of Ardentum. Casualties had been high for both, but the orks had been devastated completely.

However, the main ork army, a massive conglomeration of many, many smaller ones, was currently closing in on the capital city of Caervindus. The troops within were trapped, and there were far too many civilians for them to last in a prolonged siege. Worse yet, though the imperial governor still lived, he, along with several relics of the planet's history, relics important in the eyes of the Imperium, were trapped within the city's confines as well.

"What do you intend to do?" Solomon asked.

"Evacuate whomever we can, most likely the governor, his family, and the relics. Our forces are either rearming or en route, but the city will likely fall before we can draw the ork's attention away from it," Librarian Martessus Cenus explained. "The evacuation will be potentially costly, but it will be better than leaving them there to die. We are sworn to defend those who we rule, at all costs."

"So, in face of almost certain death, you will gladly send in pilots, so that you may rescue a small handful?"

The space marines exchanged strange looks, before Captain Margentus spoke. "Captain, with all due respect, we are veterans of many conflicts, hundreds in some cases. We are well versed in dealing with the losses of those we could not save, or those we lost so that more might survive. None of us can reach the city in time with our armies to create a full evacuation, nor bring enough firepower to bear to halt the orks completely. Your own forces have been bled terribly by one small ork army, in one small engagement for Ardentum. The city of Caervindus is several times larger, and as such, the orks marching on it are far more numerous than those you faced."

"We won't let the sacrifice of those who have died be in vain," Sha'Nel added. "When the highest densities of orks have reached the city center, we shall commence an orbital bombardment equivalent to a localized exterminatus. The city shall be wiped off the map, along with the vast majority of the ork forces. With their demise, the rest of the planet can be taken back, and rebuilt. There will be small ork incursions in the wilds, but Woebus will still belong to the Imperium."

Solomon fell silent at that, his mind working furiously to try and counter their argument. Yet, it made sense, and was strategically sound, as well as their only course of action. Neither he nor they had the numbers to mount a full rescue operation of that size, and with his troops either coping with their losses, injuries or exhaustion, he couldn't put himself to have them attempt a land assault. If so, both they and he would be wiped out completely, and he could not have that. He still had so much to do, so much to work towards, and to die now, on some backwater world to a bunch of green monsters, would not do him nor his destiny any good.

There had to be another way, some way to accomplish the goal of evacuating as many civilians as possible without sacrificing more men.

"What is the timetable for the orbital bombardment?" he asked.

"Within three hours, less if the orks advance more rapidly. Given that they have, that will likely be the case. Our own transports will evacuate as soon as they can, but many will not be before the orks overwhelm them. "

"Are you still in contact with the survivors?"

"Yes, they will be informed of our decision within the hour. Many have already accepted their fate, but it's best we tell them, for the sake of posterity. Their long-range vox communications could be knocked out before we evacuate, as the orks have taken to trying to do such."

"What about air defenses? Do the orks possess any flak towers?"

"As they are on the move, no, they possess none. They do, however, have several cobbled vehicles that function as such. Any bombing runs or strafing attacks would be futile endeavors to cover an evacuation, and the ships we do have can only pull out so many at a time. The city's own ships, small barges and such, would not be able to withstand firepower of that magnitude, nor would the shuttles many of the troops originally landed in."

Solomon was silent for a moment. "Do they have any orbital-capable weapons? Ones possibly strong enough to punch through a cruiser's void shields?"

"From what we have been told, and seen for ourselves, no, none of them possess such weaponry. The closest they have are several gargants moving towards Caervindus, and those would barely scratch a void shield at range. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason," he replied. "I will be moving my own ship onto the far side of the planet, to assist with the evacuation, as I still have over ten thousand guardsmen still fresh for duty. I will need some time to plan it out, though."

"Any help would be greatly appreciated," Captain Margentus said. "Let us know the moment you begin your own evacuation maneuvers."

"That I will." As the vox system turned off, Solomon turned to Syngra. "How powerful are our void shields?"

"What do you mean?"

"Can they withstand the heat generated by the frictional force of a rapid atmospheric entry?"

"Well, yes, to a certain extent. Why do you ask?"

"Here's what I think we do..."

* * *

"How long have you been tracking the ship?" The darkness of the ship's interior was offset only by the odd neon lights that flickered here or there.

"What amounts to several days now. They are being extremely cautious to avoid mon'keigh detection. Too bad they should have been on the lookout for more... sinister foes."

"Why do you think they are here?" the captain asked.

"I do not know, but for being this deep in mon'kiegh space, they must be after something of great importance. I sense someone strong on their ship... a Seer, perhaps? Nearly a Farseer in strength."

"Hmm, what a delicious chance, a Seer's soul is not one to be lost so readily. When we attack, we must take care to capture as many as we can, especially this Seer."

"Agreed. For now, we wait, and watch. If they find something important, then so shall we. Make sure the others are ready to go at a moment's notice. When we strike, we strike hard, and we strike fast."

* * *

"Have the transports reported back?"

"Yes, Captain Margentus," the Ultramarine replied. "We have suffered no casualties, and the governor, his family, and the relics are safely aboard the Unbroken Oath. Our next pass will begin shortly, we need to make emergency repairs on our ships."

"Good, good, see to it that they approach away from the ork's strong side," the captain said. "What of the you, Sha'Nel?"

"Our own transports were rerouted to avoid a large swarm of ork missiles. They made landfall and retrieved as many civilians as they could, but I fear it was only a handful to the total number still trapped."

"I see," Margentus said. "Have you heard anything from Captain Solomon?"

"Yes, he recently sent me a message. He is beginning his own evacuation right now, as we speak."

"Excellent, I pray the Emperor will guide him well. The orks will close in on the city in an hour, perhaps less. I can only pray for those who-,"

"Um, sir, you might want to take a look at this."

Captain Margentus looked away from his vox screen and turned to one of the crewman on the bridge. "Yes, Scout Tiberius?"

"It's the _Terra's Scion_ , sir. It has reached orbit on the other side of the planet, and I just received a message it is beginning it's evacuation maneuvers. Only... it's not stopping, and I am sensing only one ship exiting the cruiser."

"What? Only one ship?"

"Yes, sir. Also, the cruiser, it's... still moving, sir."

"Away? Is he pulling back?"

"No, sir. I think he's gone mad!"

* * *

Down on the ground, the city of Caervindus looked more like a massive pile of rubble than a once-bustling, highly sophisticated city. Fire burned everywhere, and countless bodies lay piled near the outermost fringes, with trails leading all the way towards the city center. Several buildings had been knocked over, creating entire walls of steels and glass.

The largest of the fallen skyscrapers were the best cover for the large number of shuttles and barges waiting to evacuate, walling off any potential long-range attackers. Citizens milled around in a tight area, thousands strong as the occasional explosion in the distance made them duck for cover every few minutes.

Both the Salamanders and the Ultramarines guarding them had set up the best defenses they could, with the remaining guardsmen providing cover and recon for those civilians still trying to flee towards the city center. By this point in the war there were almost none of these anymore, but still, a few had showed up every now and then from the outskirts, though after the orks had taken the west bridge overlooking the great Buricon River, none had arrived from there.

Sergeant Khan'Yay looked out towards the approaching greenskin horde, his determination as fierce as ever to protect the people of Woebus from the xeno menace. Though outnumbered, outgunned, and extremely unlikely to survive a full-frontal assault, he would never give up, never cease in his duty to the people of the Imperium. His Salamander brothers and the Ultramarines beside him would harbor this same determination, this same resolute will to do what had to be done.

"Sir, the Ultramarine transports have just been patched up aboard the _Unbroken Oath_ , and are preparing to embark on our position," one of his Salamander brothers said.

"Excellent, Jaiy'Zyee," he replied. "Prepare the women and children for evac. If the planet's guardsmen fall this day, it shall be with the knowledge their families have been saved."

"My lords! There's a ship coming!" a guardsmen said, running towards the two before giving a hasty salute.

"Is it a transport?"

"No, it's smaller, looks to be an attack craft."

Indeed, the trio looked up towards the cloud-covered mountains in the distance, and high above, there indeed was an attack craft, though somewhat strangely shaped by the looks of it, and quite a bit smaller as well. It soon hugged the terrain as close as it could, appearing to be no more than several meters off the ground at any one time.

"What is an attack craft doing out here? Don't they know the greenskins have enough flak vehicles to render any bombing run suicidal?" Jaiy'Zee asked.

"It's approach is not suggestive of an attack run," Khan'Yay replied as it grew closer, at a rather rapid pace at that. "In fact, judging from it's current course, I believe it's... coming in to land."

"Land?" the other Salamander repeated. "Whatever for?"

"I cannot say, but we will have to ask them when they do."

* * *

"What is the status of our transports?"

"Fueled and ready to depart, Captain Margentus. It will be some time before they get there."

"Excellent. Scout Tiberius, what of the _Terra's Scion_? Has it slowed it's progress?"

"No sir, its... its gaining speed. Has Captain Solomon gone mad?"

"Perhaps, or perhaps he is willing to do something we did not count on: an extremely risky gamble, but one that could work, providing the orks do not have any anti-cruiser weaponry."

* * *

"Private Gernardo Nautus, reporting for duty," the pilot said, peeking out of his ship down at the two space marines, in the very middle of the refugee encampment. "I've been told to lead you all out of here, my lords."

"Private, I am not entirely sure you understand our predicament here," Jaiy'Zee said as people watched the exchange, space marine and civilian alike. "We are surrounded, and the orks will be on our positions within an hour, likely much less. I'm afraid one attack craft of your... unique design, or even an entire squadron of them, could do little to prevent the barges from being blown out of the sky."

"I am under strict orders not to cover you, my lords," the guardsmen said. "You are, instead, to follow me towards safety."

"And pray, what tell, will that be? I do not see an army approaching, nor a massive contingent of attack craft to cover us."

"The captain said he'll provide enough cover for most of you, hopefully all, to get onto your barges and safely onto a cruiser."

"What captain? Margentus?"

"Nay, Captain Solomon, a rogue trader," Private Nautus replied. "I work for him, on the _Terra's Scion_."

"So, we will be evacuating to his ship?" A rogue trader? This greatly intrigued the Salamander, as he had heard over the vox that a rogue trader had assisted with the evacuation of another city on Woebus. What was it again? Ardentum?

"Yes, my lords. He will be arriving to aid you very soon."

"Where is it now?"

A massive blast roared through the air like the winds of a hurricane, and off in the distance, bright beams of light lanced out from behind a cloud back. Far off in the vast swathes of approaching green, the massive ork army seemed to boil in several parts, as bursts of ground-shaking light temporarily blinded those looking towards them. From behind the cloud, wreathed in the flame of atmosphere rolling off of void shields, it's elevation just barely higher than that of the mountains it passed over, emerged a cruiser.

"Right there," Nautus said, as he strapped himself back in. "Get to your ships, and get ready to dust off. Our astropath and techpriest have done the calculations, you've only got a short window to fly up and into the ship before it moves out of your range."

Another massive blast shook the ground as the ork army was struck by another barrage of main battery cannon fire. Massive ork battle cannons and flak vehicles began to return fire as the ship rapidly closed in, but the void shields barely seemed to register them. In spite of this, the orks grew ever closer, just out of their weapon range. The civilians began to panic from the sound of their marching and distant war-cries.

There was a slight pause, and then the two space marines nodded to one another.

"Everyone, on the barges!" Khan'Yay shouted as he and Jaiy'Zee began herding civvies away from the attack craft, which slowly began to lift off of the ground. "Move, move, we're evacuating right now!"

"What of the ork anti-air defenses?" one of the Ultramarines asked as people started to rush past in droves, piling themselves into the modified haulers and shuttles with completely reckless abandon. Well, pretty much any civvie would if given the possibility of salvation from a horribly gruesome death. Crying children were snatched up by parents or relatives and carried as fast as possible towards what could be their very salvation.

Another large ground-shaking blast from the cruiser's main weapons was all the explanation Khan'Yay needed. The remaining guardsmen and space marines rushed around, ensuring no civilians that still lived were left behind. All the while, the cruiser grew closer, the light of the flames surrounding it's bow casting the entire valley in an eerie glow.

* * *

High up on the mountain's peak, Warboss Brainzbeata was uncharacteristically angry. Well, he was pretty much always angry, as all orks were to some extent, but now he was downright furious. Here he sat atop his gargant, trying to make his mek boyz paint it more red to make it go faster, and now he was watching his boyz getting blow up by some humie cruiser that had just flown in from out of nowhere.

It didn't sit right with him. Luckily, for an ork, he was rather clever, so he simply turned to one of the mek boyz.

"Is da big dakka ready yet dat we stole frum da humiez?" The large main cannon pointed out from the center of the massive construct, which had been literally built around a salvaged planetary defense cannon. He had been wanting to use it on the city, but now there was a bigger, and better, target to shoot at.

"Ya boss, just gotta put on da finishin' touches," one of the meks said.

"Wozzat?"

"We'z paintin' da big dakka red, so it shoots fasta!"

* * *

"Sir! Everyone is on board!" one of the few guardsmen shouted as he rushed onto the shuttle that held Captain Khan'Yay.

"Good," he said, before motioning to the Salamander pilot. "Get us out of here."

"Roger that." With a roar of engines, the shuttle took to the skies, just as another flash of light shook outside. Even off the ground, they could still feel the shockwave of the main battery blast apart a large swath of orks, many of whom had now begun to fire on the ships. From the cockpit, the Salamander captain noticed the now-blinking lights of Nautus' attack craft: there was the signal.

Their window would close fast. It was now or never. "Everyone, follow that attack craft!" he commanded over comms, and as one great swarm the ships moved up and away from the city, amidst a hellscape hail of dakka fire from the ground below. Many ships were pelted mercilessly, a few even punched through by flak rounds.

Another blast from the cruiser's main weapons completely leveled a quarter of the city behind them, reigning down countless bits of debris onto the orks: a massive detonation that briefly glowed brighter than the distant star of Woebus. Ork rounds continued to come their way, piercing countless larger ships like a hail of metal death. Their sturdy design prevented many of the barges from simply exploding, the only thing keeping the shuttles in one piece being their maneuverability. Still, there were far too many bullets to dodge, and there was a scream from the back of Khan'Yay's own shuttle.

"Medic, we got a man down!" a guardswoman cried as she cradled another, the man's leg severed below the knee. Be it by shrapnel from the ship being punctured, or the round itself, none of them knew, nor did it matter at this point.

The cruiser grew larger and larger in their viewports, more of it's main weapons opening up on the ground below as it thundered by at an incredible speed, a literal rain of firepower on the ground below. The attack craft buffeted slightly as it passed through the outermost void shields, and so too did the ships following it. One damaged barge near the rear of the pack rolled off to the side and, upon contact with with a stray large dakka round, simply exploded in a shower of metal and flame. The one next to it, struck by the debris of the exploding craft, began to fall towards the ground at a high speed, suddenly engulfed entirely in flame.

Just then, a massive blast struck the front of the cruiser, and many of the already-weakened outermost void shields simply winked out of existence. The resulting turbulence and backlash destroyed two of the more lagging barges and shuttles outright in fiery implosions, the shockwave of which sent a third shuttle spinning towards the ground. Reports flooded in over the comms of casualties on board and engines losing power: it was pure pandemonium.

"What in the name of the Emperor was that?" Khan'Yay called out over the vox system, just as the attack craft ahead of them landed in the ship's massive cargo bays.

Meanwhile...

"What the hell was that?!" Solomon shouted, having been thrown from the captain's chair and face-first onto the floor, along with almost all of the bridge crew. He felt like one of his many stitches had just been torn from his face.

"The orks... they salvaged a planetary defense cannon!" Syngra shouted, pointing out of the bridge cockpit with one of her tendrils. "Sensors indicate it is there, on the top of that distant mountain. Its... its within a gargant!"

"Sir! Reports say the void shields are almost gone! They will all fail if we are struck again!" one of the other bridge crew called out.

"Well shit, can't have that now!" Solomon grunted as he pulled himself back into his chair. He was so close... "Cargo bay, report! What of the evacuees?"

"The last one just crashed in!" came the voice over the vox system. "Fire crews are scrambling to douse the flames. We're good to go down here!"

Well, that was one mission accomplished. Now, to get them and his ship out of there before they all died. "Pilot, have the gunning crews target that giant pile of junk! I want it gone now!"

"Sir, our main battery cannot reach that far up. Our smaller weapons can, but they won't be able to destroy it in time!"

"How long until it can shoot again?"

"Too soon, at our angle, it will strike our underbelly just as we pull into our main gun's firing line!"

"How low will we pass over it?"

"Mere meters at the closest, sir. At that range, it would be within any void shield range, meaning a direct hit on our hull would be certain. The ship would break apart or crash after such a close and powerful blow."

Something in Solomon snapped. Maybe it was the stress of watching several of those barges and shuttles not make it on the viewscreens. Maybe it was the leftover shock from the battle outside of Ardentum, and the loss of so many of his troops. Maybe it was that he could lose everything right now if he didn't do something about that damned gargant. Or maybe he hadn't gotten any sleep and his stitches itched like crazy and he wasn't willing to let a stupid greenskin snatch victory away from him like some stupid thief!

"Ram the bastard."

"What?" The pilot, and indeed the rest of the bridge, sounded as if they were in shock.

"Lower the ship several hundred meters, so that we will hit the gargant, but not the mountain. It's gonna be a close miss, but better than missing and having that gargant blast us out of the sky."

There was silence on the bridge.

"I said do it now, before it can shoot us again!"

* * *

"Oi, boss, almos' ready ta fire again."

"Good, wait... wotz da ship doin' now?" Brainzbeata asked, pointing out and away from his position.

"I tink its movin' down a bit, boss. Whyzit doin' dat?"

"Naht sher, is it gunna... uh..."

It was, at the point, that the Warboss finally understood the folly of perching a giant cannon on the very peak of a mountain directly in front of a speeding cruiser. Too bad he wouldn't be able to learn from his lesson.

With an almighty shearing noise, the gargant was struck by the ship, the metal behemoth dwarfed by the sheer size of the gargantuan cruiser. The ork construct, all the orks within it, and the warboss himself, didn't so much get splattered as they did cease to exist, both from the impact and from the flames coursing across the remaining void shields. It was like throwing a snowball into an incinerator set on "hellfire high".

Nothing remained but a streak of red down the mountain side, courtesy of the massive paint cans the mek boyz had hauled up per their former bosses' orders for "faster dakka" purposes.

Far behind them, a massive blast from orbit struck the ground. In a blinding instant, everything in and around the former capital of Caervindus, be it building, ork or the very ground, was gone.

* * *

As soon as he reached upper orbit, the void shields no longer threatening to disable themselves and set the ship on fire from the atmosphere, Solomon let out a sigh and sank into his chair. Well, he sort of rolled off of it, as if all of his bones had been replaced by water.

"We did it!" Syngra cried out, and the entire crew of the bridge began to cheer as well. Solomon, as much as he wanted to, didn't have the heart to tell them to stop. He would join in too, but he had a self-appointed job to do. Quietly slipping out, he eventually made his way down to the cargo bays, where countless civilians, battered guardsmen and space marines were lining up and setting up places to rest wherever they could. Some of the ships were so riddled with holes that it was a wonder the things had still been able to fly, nevermind land without simply falling apart. The fact that many of the people within them had actually survived was, to Solomon, even more astonishing.

Yet, guardsmen and civilian alike, far too many for his liking, lay under sheets or against walls, blood pooling beneath many of them. The space marines and other guardsmen, as well as his own, were attending to them the best they could, but he had no doubt he would need assistance from the medicae of another ship to care for all these people. Far too many of them were children, either huddled against what he hoped was a parent or with other children. How many of them were orphans now?

"Captain Solomon?" a voice said, and he turned to find himself looking up at a large Salamander captain.

"Yes?"

"I am Captain Khan'Yay of the Salamanders, and on behalf of myself, our company, the surviving guardsmen, and the civilians gathered here, you have our utmost gratitude. Many would have died if not for your actions this day."

"Many did die," Solomon said. "Those ships that didn't make it, the people on board them didn't survive, nor did many I see before me."

"In war, there are always casualties, sir," the space marine said softly. "Be thankful you reduced an outright slaughter into minimal losses."

"Losses are losses, no matter how minimal."

"Indeed, and we shall mourn them in time. For now, though, let us focus on the task at hand, caring for the wounded and ensuring the dying are peaceful when they do so. You have been in contact with the Ultramarines and Salamanders in orbit, correct?"

"Yes, I have."

"If you could have your astropath or vox teams send them a message, we would like to be reunited with our battle brothers."

"Already?"

"Our camaraderie is strong, captain, and though it will take some time to do so, our place is with our own, defending the Imperium," Khan'Yay said. "In due time, we shall return to Woebus, be that in hours or days, to reclaim it from the remaining orks. Then, it shall be rebuilt."

"Good luck with that, I mean it," Solomon replied. "Take care: I will look after the civilians when you are gone."

"I should hope so," the space marine said, his tone sounding somewhat humorous. "Until we meet again, Captain Solomon."

With that, the two went their separate ways, the Salamander rejoining his battle brothers and Solomon going over to where the majority of the dead now lay. Many had either been dying before the evacuation, or had been killed outright by shrapnel in the holds of the barges they had fled in.

He removed his captain's hat. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you too."

"That maneuver was very risky, captain," a voice said, followed by a pair of heavy footfalls.

"I know, Leandros," he replied, not turning away from the white sheets covering the civilians and guardsmen who had died en route. "What else was I supposed to do? Let them all die?"

"I do not know, but the Codex Astartes does not support such an action as the one you made," the space marine said. "Such a risk of everything is not wise."

"He is not an astartes: therefor, he is not bound by the rules of it, Brother Leandros," another voice said, it's tone a subtly rebuking one. "Captain Solomon, I am grateful for what you did today. Not many captains, astartes or otherwise, would be so willing to risk their cruiser to evacuate so many citizens of the Imperium."

"Thank you, Sergeant Tew'Pahc," Solomon replied. "It means a lot to me knowing I did my part."

"As it should. We all do our part for the Imperium, for the grand vision of the Emperor, all in our own ways. Your way, while a bit... unorthodox, has intrigued many. Should you require any assistance in another conflict, do not be afraid to call upon the Salamanders. We will be glad to come to your aid and serve by your side."

"As would... the Ultramarines," Leandros added softly, after a few moments of silence. "While I do not condone your methods or tactics, I do appreciate what you have done for my battle brothers, and for the people of Woebus, captain. I should warn you, though, I will have to inform my superiors of your strange behavior, as well as the... unusual equipment you and your soldiers possess. It is my duty to report anything unusual I find."

"That is fine," the captain said. "I have nothing to hide from the servants of the Imperium." Well, that was a lie, perhaps one of the biggest lies he had ever said, but hey, no need for them to know. "If you need me, I'll be here."

"With courage and honor," Leandros muttered before replacing his helmet and leaving.

Tew'Pahc, on the other hand, stayed put, and gently as an astartes could, placed a hand on Solomon's shoulder.

"They will be remembered in song and written word," he said, softly, before gesturing to the vast numbers of people milling around the cargo bay. "Thanks to you, there will be some to remember them by."

"Perhaps," Solomon said softly, as several more deceased were brought over and laid down. "If only I could have saved more."

"You did what you could, and that was more than most would be willing to do."

"Thank you, Tew'Pahc. So... what will they do now?" the captain asked, glancing in he direction of the survivors.

"Do as the Imperium has always done since the time of the great Heresy. We shall survive, we shall rebuild, and we shall live on. For now, though let us remember the fallen."

As the ship began it's slow trip around the planet once more, and the crew was abuzz with caring for the wounded, the two figures instead stood in silence, neither saying anything for quite some time. Then, soundlessly, they departed.

 **A/N 2: whew! That was quite the chapter to write. Also, I noticed in chapter six I called the governor of Vaeria both Orchus and Orcha. So, since for some reason I can't copy/paste the chapter into Word, edit it, and then upload it as an improved/corrected chapter, I'll just say the governor's full name is Orcha Orchus. Also, seeing as this story more or less follows in the footsteps of the "Text to Speech Device" series, I likely will not make any big changes or introduce important characters unless they have been established by the series, such as my inclusion of Magnus and "Kitten" in an earlier segment. Pretty much all other characters and planets I've mentioned thus far, on the other hand, are of my own creation.**

 **Anyways, if you have any questions, comments or concerns, don't be afraid to leave a review or send me a PM! I'm always interested in hearing what my reader have to say.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

 **A/N: I have been contacted by several readers as to errors or inconsistencies within the previous chapters. As such, I've endeavored to go back and fix these problems to better shape the story overall. That is the primary reason as to why this chapter took longer to put out compared to others.**

The situation aboard the space marine vessels, for those who had just returned from combat, was one of business as usual. Praying, cleaning their weapons, reading through the Codex Astartes again or taking a quick power nap. Many had more than earned a brief respite from the war down below, a war now that, merely a day before, had seemed unlikely to come to any sort of "good" conclusion. Now, with several ork armies destroyed, including the main one, the process of taking back Woebus from the remaining forces could begin.

However, word on the ships was that the actions of the rogue trader captain, whose daring rescue almost the entire remaining population of Caervindus, was beginning to spread like wildfire, both throughout the fleet and through the psykers that acted as inter-system communicators. As with all news, such deeds would likely be distorted and grow beyond their original parameters the farther they drew from Woebus.

Governor Ticric Vallalian was unhappy. He had been saved, alongside his family and the many precious relics of the Imperium he held dear, but others had been saved that he had decidedly tried to prevent being saved. Namely, his political opponents, and the heads of quite a few powerful families on Woebus. They had all been clustered in Caervindus together, and he had patiently waited for his own evacuation first, knowing full well the others would be overrun before they too could get out. But now… now they still lived, the bastards! Those who had besmirched his family's name over the decades, those who had allied and then betrayed him for often short-sighted goals, and those whose very existence was a threat to his authority and power over Woebus. He hadn't given a damn about any of the civilians either, they were easily replaceable tools in his political games, but now, with his rivals rescued, he would have to tread very carefully until the planet was secured. Blame could be easily placed on him for the greenskin invasion, even though the orbital defenses were the best they could have constructed with the resources available to them.

"Damn that bastard of a captain, that wretched Solomon!" he hissed, alone in the quarters the Ultramarines had loaned him. "Curse you to the Warp, captain, your insufferable heroics have cost me a great deal!" Vallalian desperately wanted to punch something, but the rather spartan room had little in the way of anything other than a bed. Without something to take his anger out on physically, he relegated himself to muttering instead and wringing his hands like a scheming monkey. "As long as I live Solomon, as long as my family lives, I will never let this slight go unpunished. The Vallalians _always_ repay their debts _in kind_."

The Cadian guards posted outside of the governor's room ignored his ramblings. Despite the fact they had literally smashed an ork army a short time before, and were exhausted from such an endeavor, they stood at perfect attention, almost like statues.

This, however, did not stop them from speaking to the guards posted at the room across from them, another pair of Cadians.

"Did you hear?"

"What?"

"Caervindus got evacuated."

"Really? I thought a large-scale one was out of the picture."

"Yeah, this crazy Rogue Trader captain brought his cruiser down into the atmosphere and everyone flew into his hangars. Almost lost it to some ork warboss with an orbital cannon. Rammed the greenskin right off the mountain."

"Wow. Who would have thought, a Rogue Trader? Haven't seen one of those in a war in a long time."

"Yeah, my granddad told me about one who helped on one of their campaigns. Bastard stole all the loot and left before they knew what had happened."

"What happened to him, you think?"

"Oh, granddad? Got cut up real bad, was later vaporized by a melta grenade he stuffed into some chaos space marine's leg armor."

"No, I meant the Rogue Trader. All of our granddads are dead by now anyway."

"Oh, psh, probably got killed by his crew. Granddad always did say he'd been suspiciously nice to everyone when he met him. Probably some front to steal everything that wasn't nailed down."

"Sure he wasn't a part of the Blood Ravens?"

"Nah, they'd have stolen the nails too."

The men chuckled. Joke as they might, the Astartes were held in the highest regard, the literal angels of the Emperor's guiding hand to ensure the survival of man. They were treated with a deference and respect that was beyond description, almost innate, and they had earned it in every way possible.

* * *

Prollarius, the minute he had heard the news from the returning Ultramarines, had hopped on the nearest shuttle loaded with shipboard medicae headed to the Terra's Scion. He should have recognized it right away, but he had been very busy getting some much-needed rest with the rest of his surviving guardsmen.

Then again, the fact that he had somehow not recognized Captain Solomon, of all people, was a mystery to him. He had been covered in blood, yes, and that weird sword hadn't helped out, but... he was the same height, wore the same armor, and had the same voice of the man who had replaced Ordacius. How the man was here, and had aided in not one but two city evacuations, was certainly a puzzle, but one the guardsman intended to find out.

However, the instant he entered the hangar, he found himself beset upon by an elderly civilian, chanting constantly to all who looked in his direction.

"Praise the God-Emperor, holy be his name! His will delivers all the faithful from his enemies. By the Throne, we have been saved by this glorious vessel of his divine will! The blessings of mankind's savior have brought us forth from the wretched abyss! Praise is to the God-Emperor, for he is one and true, the only one worthy of praise."

Prollarius prayed to the God-Emperor as much as the next guardsmen, which was very often, but he found this a bit unnecessary. Public adulations were good and all for gatherings and wartime, but he, like so many others he had met, preferred praising the Emperor in quiet, by himself. It made it feel more powerful, more personal, as if he were speaking to him in person, something he thought none had ever done since the God-Emperor was first interred on the throne.

Still, the old man's enthusiastic nature was a tad grating. Judging from the exasperated looks of many of the other civilians, he'd have to guess they agreed. Uttering a short, soft prayer of thanks for his own safe deliverance, the guardsmen looked around. Countless civilians were either clustered in small groups or aimlessly milling around, many bandaged severely. Many more lay in rows under white sheets, casualties of an evacuation none had thought possible.

"The flak was awful for them," a voice said, and the guardsmen turned to find the man he had been looking for. "Several transports didn't make it."

"I know, I lost friends on some of those," Prollarius replied. "Captain," he added, tipping his helmet.

"Just Solomon is fine, Prollarius," the man replied, a weary look in his face. To the guardsmen, he looked… older, more worn down, and there was an empty look in his eyes. A fight such as his own, judging from his losses, had not come easily. "What brings you back aboard my ship?"

"Well, thought I'd come over and see how you're doing," the guardsmen replied. Apparently, not very well: the man almost looked sick. "How many did you lose?"

"Civilians, or guardsmen?"

"Both."

Solomon sighed. "Many of those that didn't perish on the battlefield died from their wounds on board the ship. Around ten thousand total so far, I'd say. I don't know how many more I could lose more before I leave, there's many still in critical condition. As for the civilians… I don't know how many were packed on those lost shuttles and barges: too many."

"The rest of them are alive because of you," Prollarius replied. "Both the civvies and the guardsmen."

"I'm not used to such losses," was the reply. "I knew I'd lose men when I went to war, but this many… I hadn't expected the enemy to be so fierce. This is nothing like what I'd imagined war would be like."

"You never saw war before?" Sounded like quite the sheltered childhood to the guardsmen, but then again, many in the Imperium could go their entire lives without witnessing xenos or chaos in action. The galaxy was just too vast for everyone to suffer, the Imperium just barely holding everything together as it was. Honestly, he was a little jealous of them, but he also pitied them. They would never know or truly appreciate what others did for them, that they could remain safe from the terrors that stalked the galaxy.

"I… there was war, where I was, but never like this," Solomon sighed as they passed a small group of children, many of whom were huddled close to what he hoped were their parents. One little girl gave him a faint wave. "I was never witness to it, and growing up, only a few I knew had seen it, but… others had. Many had seen war in my time, far too many for me to comprehend. Yet this, this kind of war, it's not war at all. It's a damned slaughter, a glorified meat grinder, and the winner is whoever is left licking his wounds at the end of the fight."

Prollarius nodded. "Exactly. War isn't pretty, it never is, and the enemies of man are too dangerous, too numerous, to combat like smaller wars are fought. Sometimes, you have to grind them down with what you have, and give it all, just so that the city, the planet, the system you're defending, lives to see the next day, the next month, or the next year. It's a never-ending struggle, Solomon."

"Then I'll have to change," Solomon replied with a small grunt. "Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. I will need men who know how to fight the enemies of man, both xenos and chaos alike. If I must lose more men in the future in numbers like that, then I'll be damned if it wasn't for total victory."

"Sounds like you want me back," the guardsmen said. "Might I ask why?"

"You've been fighting orks since the war began, Prollarius," was the captain's answer. "You know more about fighting greenskins than anyone else on board this ship, seeing as the space marines left a while ago. I need men like you to help me fight them, or none of my crew will survive another engagement like that. _I_ won't survive another bloodbath like that."

"Well, I currently have no offers to join elsewhere, and the regiment I was with no longer exists in any combat-ready form. We'll most likely be absorbed into another regiment once the planet is retaken." He paused for a moment. "I don't really feel like going elsewhere. Besides, I kind of missed this ship."

"Then, Prollarius, can I convince you to come aboard?"

"I'll have to talk with some of the others, but I don't see why not," the man said, extending his hand. "Besides, someone needs to help the new guys learn how to better fight the damned greenskins."

"Then consider this conversation a precautious welcome back, Prollarius," Solomon said, shaking his hand. "Welcome back to the _Terra's Scion_."

* * *

Private Vanem Catillo sat in the corner of the mess hall with several other guardsmen, his head still aching from surgery. The bandages had stopped the bleeding, but he would have to still be careful, or else it'd get infected. Much of the antiseptic sprays and cleansing cloths had been used on the far more injured, and it would take some time before they were able to get enough to supply the whole ship again.

His vision was still a bit blurry from the near-constant headaches, but that was expected when shrapnel from an ork weapon was removed from underneath your skin. He was lucky it hadn't penetrated the bone, but the large gash it had left behind was certainly nothing to scoff at. However, the worst thing was not the headaches, but the nightmares.

He was exhausted, but every time he fell asleep, he saw them. He saw them all, the faces of all he'd known killed by the damn greenskins. Crushed, ripped apart, stomped, shot, or shredded, it didn't matter. Catillo could hear their screams when he slept, could see their faces when he closes his eyes. Dead eyes, the eyes of the dead, always staring back at his, and nobody wanted to talk about it. The ship commissar had told him to keep that to himself, or he'd be dealt with for disrupting morale.

Maybe death wouldn't be so bad, after what they'd been through. "I'm sorry, Halris," he muttered, looking down at his uneaten food.

"What?" one of them asked, a guardsmen with three quarters of his face hidden behind bandages.

"Nothing, it's nothing, forget I said anything."

"Man, we know you're not right in the head right now," another one said, half of her hair missing and one of her arms in a cast. "After the other day, I don't think any of us are. Even the captain's been acting weird, according to the officers. Come on, Catillo, tell us what's wrong."

"I keep seeing them, seeing him, in my dreams," the man replied. "I keep seeing Halris."

"He was your buddy, wasn't he?"

"We joined up together back on Mastuonus, thought it'd be cool. See the galaxy, fight for the Imperium, maybe earn ourselves some nice medals or something. But this… this isn't how I thought I'd lose him."

"Guardsmen die every day, Catillo. Millions die every day across the Imperium, doing the Emperor's will."

"I know, I wasn't planning on making it out alive if I served long enough, but… why him? Farella, he was my best friend!"

"We've all lost someone," the woman replied. "I lost two cousins and an uncle to an ork raiding party on some convoy they signed up for. It hurts, but time helps."

"Does it ever go away?"

"No, it never does, but all you can do is pray to the God-Emperor and thank him you're alive, and pray that he keeps watching over you. He watches over us all."

"I know, but… none of this would have happened if we hadn't come to Woebus in the first place," Catillo muttered. "We weren't ready, despite all that training. We weren't as prepared for those greenskins as we should have been. Our tactics cost us too many good soldiers!"

"They were the captain's tactics, and we follow the captain's orders," Farella replied, absentmindedly scratching at her cast. "It the risk that comes with the job, doing what he says even if it's not the best thing to do. He's no tactical genius, but he won us a victory; a hard-fought and bloody victory, but a victory for the Imperium nonetheless."

"Plus, what he did saved a lot more lives than it cost," one of the other guardsmen said. "Look at Ardentum, and now Caervindus. He helped rescue space marines, for throne's sake! Without him, both they and all the civvies under their protection would have likely all been wiped out."

"I know, I know, it just… it just feels bad, okay?" Catillo muttered. "He comes down like a hero, gets all these thanks and probably some laurels to boot, and for what? Sending ten thousand men to their deaths?"

"Catillo, no, it's not like that," Farella whispered. "Besides, we were all there, and so was he. He saved a lot of us personally!"

"I know!" Catillo replied, no longer bothering to whisper. He didn't care if anyone else heard him. He had to get this out. "He saved you guys, and me, but not my friend Halris! What am I going to tell his family? That we both signed up, but I came back, and he didn't? We'll need to go back to Mastuonus Primus for supplies, and everyone will know what happened by then."

"We did the best we could with what we had. So many of us were green, what did you expect to happen? For us to just kill them all with no losses?"

"We could have done better!" the man shouted, slamming his hand hard enough on the table to rattle the serving trays. "We could have been better prepared, or better led! We didn't have to lose so many if we'd been under the command of someone with experience, and you all know it!"

"Catillo, be quiet," Farella muttered, glancing around. Several were approaching their table, curious to the outburst. She really didn't want the ship-appointed commissar, one of the veteran guardsmen, to deal with her friend. "What you're saying could be construed to attempting a mutiny."

"No, I will not be quiet, I have to say this!" he said, standing up. "We need someone with experience, not a captain with the inability to come up with a plan that doesn't border on suicide. We're all the troops he has, and throwing us away like that-,"

"It was not my intention to lose so many, Catillo," a voice said. All heads turned to see Solomon standing behind the younger man, a blank expression on his face. Prollarius moved up beside him, one of his hands on his service bolter pistol. "I… underestimated the capabilities of the orks. I do not intend for that to happen again."

"Do not intend? Do you even hear yourself?!" Catillo shouted, whirling around to fully face the captain. "Not everyone gets a second chance in war, let alone this kind of life! Why did we even come to this damned world?"

"They are our fellow humans, and we, as the ones capable of such, had a duty to aid them in their hour of need," Solomon said. "The men's sacrifice was not in vain, and-,"

With an enraged snarl, Catillo's fist flew up and struck Solomon across the chin, sending him stumbling backwards into a table, earning gasps of shock throughout the room. Before he could advance and strike again, a bolter pistol was pressed against the space between his eyes, none of the other guardsmen even seeing Prollarius draw his weapon.

"Private," he whispered softly, looking directly into the eyes of the younger man, who had frozen in shock. "Striking the captain is liable to mutiny and treason, and is punishable by death."

"Then kill me," Catillo muttered back, staring the man right in the eyes. "It'd be a damn sight better for me to end here and now than on some damned world at the whim of a captain that doesn't even care. I live to serve the Imperium, not the ideas and whims of one man."

"I do care," Solomon muttered, rising from the table and rubbing his jaw. "Catillo, I do care, far more than you know. When we return to Mastuonus Primus, all those who died will be given a proper burial."

The private barked a hollow laugh. "What, in a mass grave? Like animals, or civilians killed by disease?"

"No," the captain replied softly. "They will be cremated, and their ashes scattered on their home world, in the vast frozen wastes of the north pole of Mastuonus Primus. There, they will sleep, having earned their rest in defense of Woebus."

Catillo merely stared at the man, his mouth moving but not seeming to work. Even Prollarius glanced over at Solomon, a surprised expression on his own face.

"That's… that's very gracious of you, sir," Fellara said, standing up from the table.

"It's a start," Solomon said. "Many of those who evacuated Ardentum are alive thanks to you as much as they are to me, Catillo; as they are to everyone who bled and died that morning. Our sacrifice was my fault, yes, but I promise you this," he added, taking a step towards the man. "I will never put you through that meat grinder again. The next time we face our enemies, we will be prepared. The next time we fight, we will win, and we will survive."

Without a word, Catillo suddenly dropped to the floor, burying his bandaged head in his hands. The soft, choking sobs punctuated the quiet din of the mess hall.

"Pivate Fellara, see to it that Private Catillo is sent to the medical wing," Solomon said. "Have someone keep an eye on him until they can give him something to bring him down. This ledge he built himself up on, I don't want him falling from it." He didn't want to lose any more capable troops to shock and trauma. He'd lost too damn many already, he had to save as many as he could.

"Yes, sir," the woman said, before motioning to several others. They gently lifted the crying man from the floor and supporting his weight, left the room.

Solomon rubbed his jaw, wincing slightly as many of the guardsmen went back to what they had been doing. Damn, that had been a solid punch. He'd have to put ice on it or something.

"Why did you stay my hand?" Prollarius asked. "Most other captains would have had no qualms of letting a shipboard commissar kill someone for such disobedience."

"These troops need to know I care about them, even if they feel right now I don't," Solomon said. "I'm in this for the long haul, and I can't have them thinking I view them all as expendable. Besides, they aren't as trained as they could be, and if I can avoid any fighting for a while, then their training can continue, and their discipline should follow suit. In the meantime, I think it's about time we finished up here and left Woebus behind. I've been wondering how the garrison I left back at my base is doing, but Pontius can't contact them."

"Base? You have a base other than the ship?"

"Yes, back on the moon of Talmanjir, above the planet of Mastuonus Tertiarius. It was uninhabited before I set up shop there. Kind of foggy, and there's moss everywhere, along with some insects, but nothing to worry about."

* * *

The moon of Talmajir had seen much progress since Solomon had last seen it. In the months he had left to aid Woebus in its hour of need, the walls around the base had been fully built, and the equivalent of a castle was just about halfway done. Many weapon systems left behind, especially the larger ones, had been set up to defend against both ground and space assaults, many with overlapping fields of fire.

The nearby quarry and mines were churning out materials almost as fast as they were being used. The lower portions of the castle had already encompassed the barracks, armory and a small chapel, where one could pray to the God-Emperor in either a congregation, or by themselves if they so wished. The chapel also was directly over the entrance to the bunker systems underneath, though many were still being excavated.

Water collectors had been built long before, and because of the rivers down in the valleys now supplied water to quite a few farms, several pathways down had been reinforced with tunnel-like constructs. The hivers who worked them had been very keen to learn from the agri-world guardsmen, many of whom had worked on such large farms themselves before their recruitment. Many of the hivers had also been able to build their own homes, some within the base or right outside it, others down in valleys or out on their own little plateaus.

Up in the base, however, the hydroponic farms had been set up beneath the base in underground caverns, carved from the solid rock. These quickly grew food that was rather tasteless, but they had the proper nutrients, so they in turn were made into long-lasting rations.

With the materials from the quarries and mines stacking up, the workshops where machines could process the materials into useful items, had been a blessing. With them, the development of more tools and weapons had been almost constant, and although nobody really knew how to make something from scratch, fiddling around with whatever plans Solomon had left behind had been fairly fruitful. Then again, most of the five thousand-man garrison of guardsmen came up with something because they were often bored.

In the mess hall, things were as they usually were. Guardsmen sitting off in small groups, chitchatting about the latest news they'd heard from Mastuonus Primus, though given the fact that their larger vox systems could only reach that planet, entertainment wasn't too varied. Then again, most of them were from there anyway, so they didn't mind.

"Hey, guys, I think something's up," Private Gallinius said to his squad as he sat down to eat supper. Training, as usual, had been an all-day affair, and they had just finished with several of the rooms in the fortress, including the captain's future quarters. He personally hoped the man would like it, they'd worked very hard making sure it was more fortified and solidly laid than other portions.

"What is it?" one of them asked. "The fog getting to you again?"

The fogs of Talmanjir were frequent, though the visibility could range from several miles to less than a hundred meters at times. It made maneuvers rather difficult on certain days, especially if they were trying to coordinate with the civvies living amongst them. People had managed to get themselves lost too many times to count, so now all pathways between buildings and roads were marked with bright blinking lights.

"No, it's with the civvies," Gallinius replied. "Most of 'em have been pretty decent, but a couple..."

"You mean the weird ones that live off by themselves on that little outcropping?"

"Yeah, those ones, the hivers with the purple robes: they're really quiet when working, but when they get together after, all they do is talk and laugh. That, and apparently try to keep everyone up within earshot with their "nightly" antics. I swear, someone's gotta tell them to keep it down."

"So? What's wrong with having a laugh or a bit of fun?"

"They don't make jokes or tell stories that would cause anyone I know to laugh. Plus, the ladies… they're kinda scary."

"Man, they came from a hive world, where only the toughest of the tough survive, let alone prosper. They're all like that."

"No, no, I meant the purple-robed ones. They're even scarier than the others. The tattoos don't help."

"Yeah, I noticed that too," one of the other said, a woman by the name of Zita Kyner. "The ladies have these tattoos on their necks, especially around the throat and chest areas. Really seem kinda simple, but they curve all over the place. Don't know how they got there, thought it better to not ask while in the showers. You sure none of them were crooks?"

"No, they all checked out, and nothing's been stolen or sabotaged. They're just creepy is all, and prefer to keep to themselves. That, and all the gold jewelry they wear. I don't even know where they could have gotten the stuff."

"Well, better go over it with the older guardsmen, just to be sure," Zita muttered. "You never know what people are up to, and they'd be the best bet in figuring out what's going on."

"Yeah, right. Anyways, what about those rifles you and the others were testing the other day? The… what were they called again?"

"Burst lasguns," she replied. "They're weaker than the big ones, but still a lot stronger than the older ones, and they fire in five-shot bursts. I've seen them burn through rock like it was paper. Really accurate too, and they don't need as long of a cooling time."

"Those orders Captain Solomon gave us explicitly stated we were allowed to fiddle with or make anything we wanted, within reason and even though there's been quite a few accidents, thankfully nobody's died yet. Dayn is lucky he didn't blow his foot off with that one mine."

"Can't wait for the captain to come back," Gallinius said. "I bet the others will have tons of stories about how glorious the fighting was."

* * *

"Captain Solomon? There's someone out here who wishes to speak with you."

Having long ago decided that trying to get some sleep would be the best course to take, Solomon tried taking a nap in his quarters. However, the stress of what had happened, combined with everything he was worrying about, as well as the plans he had to eventually deal with, made restful sleep all but impossible. That, and he kept seeing the faces of those he had lost, which made it even more impossible.

"Let them in," he muttered, not having bothered to get undressed. Sitting up, and rubbing his face, he saw Prollarius enter with an older man, his hunched form likely an indicator of great age. That, or he was born that way, but from what Solomon had heard, that was highly unlikely. Mutants and similar genetic aberrations were often persecuted in Imperial space, if not outright exterminated. "Can I help you?"

"Savior of Caervindus and her people, mighty sword of the God-Emperor's divine will, I thank thee on the behalf of all who have lived through our most terrible ordeal," the man said, making many gestures and bows. "Were it not for your intervention, the citizens of Caervindus and the surrounding countryside would have undoubtedly fallen victim to the greenskin horde."

"Well, thanks, but there were guardsmen and space marines with you," Solomon replied.

"They too were saved, thanks to your audacity and cunning tactics. Many of us owe you our very lives."

"I would prefer a thank you, really, and maybe a small statue or plaque," the captain said. "Nothing more, I can't have people thinking I'm the greatest hero since… well, what was his name again? Cain?"

"Ah, but you are a hero, a hero to so many." The old man spoke with fervor and intensity that reminded Solomon of religious memories from his past. The message was different, perhaps, but the intention and purpose was clear: he was being lauded for his deeds.

Well, that was just… peachy. Before he could speak, however, there was another knock at his door, and Prollarius soon returned with another older gentlemen, this one likely quite a few years younger than the first.

"I must apologize for my father's rather… evangelistic approach to thanking someone," he said, shooting his father an exasperated glare. "He means well by it, but sometimes gets a bit out of hand on the subject."

"That's fine, that's fine," Solomon said.

"What he is likely trying to say is that many of us no longer have a home on Woebus," the man continued, even as his elderly father continued to mumble under his breath about "saviors" and "prune cakes", for some odd reason. "Many of our citizens have no home left to go to on the world, with Caervindus gone and many other cities lying in ruin. Many more do not wish to return: far too many bad memories of the war, you see. It's not a large number, by any means, but it is significant."

"How many?" Prollarius asked.

"Several thousand at the moment, likely more as time goes by. Many children are orphans now, living with their elder siblings or distant relatives. With Woebus in ruins as much as it is, there is too great a risk for them falling to… temptations, if they are not cared for."

Solomon nodded. Chaos notwithstanding, it would be far too easy for these war orphans to descend into either suicidal depression or lash out against the world that took their families from them. They would need to be looked after, cared for, or else them being saved would wind up becoming one of the worst days of their lives. He couldn't let that happen.

He _wouldn't_ let that happen. "Are the children and their relatives, by chance, the ones that don't want to go back to Woebus?"

"Most of them, yes," the man said. "Many of the space marine ships have invited them to be relocated to other worlds within the Imperium, closer to Macragge or Nocturne, but those journeys will be fairly long. Many wish to settle back down as soon as possible."

"So… what exactly are you suggesting?"

"Will you take us with you, back to wherever it is you are stationed? Surely there are worlds that you resupply at or have established a base upon where we could settle. It is the least we could do, out of gratitude for saving so many of us."

That was… unexpected. Here Solomon had been thinking they'd simply ask for him to transport them to the nearest Imperium world, not to actually join him in some way. Then again, the voices of Adam and Eve _had_ told him others would join him because of his actions, so maybe this was the beginning of that. Hopefully he wouldn't come to regret it.

"Are… are you sure? I have a base on a habitable moon, but I don't know how developed it is. I mean, I just left a garrison behind before I left for Woebus. Other than that, there's the agri-world of Mastuonus Primus, but I'm not sure how the locals would react to you."

"Anything free from the infestations of orks is a welcome paradise to us," the man said. "We can easily integrate into another society of the Imperium, given a few years. I will talk with the others as to what they wish." With that, and with his father at his side, the pair left the two of them alone.

"Well, that was… unexpected," Prollarius said. "What are you thinking?"

"Well, I can't just reject their offer," Slomon replied. "I mean, this could be great. Or it could be terrible. I still don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"If I accept, and if this happens to be an even semi-regular event, I'll be dumping far more people into the base I'm building than I'm afraid it could support. On the other hand, just dumping refugees on an agri-world could seriously meddle with its taxes, tithes, and even its production. The planetary governor is very open to helping me, so long as I help her in return, and I'm slightly worried she'll take offense to me turning her world into a potential refugee camp."

"Aren't there any other planets in the system that could work? Habitable ones or something? What about nearby systems themselves?"

"I've been looking into the local star charts I have, but it's not looking all that good. Mastuonus Secundus is a mining world, highly automated and basically unfit for the likes of these refugees. Mas Tertiarius is a feral world, really unlikely they'd be welcome there, or even survive. My moon base is habitable, but I don't have the infrastructure to suddenly care for an influx of several thousand refugees. My supplies would run out faster than I could replace them if they all stayed there."

"I overheard one of the privates before talking about the Vaeria system. I looked them up, they have a refugee planet."

"Yeah, but Vaeria Quaternius is a sack of grox shit. It's deeply divided along cultural lines, and it's in a near-constant state of some kind of cold war. The loyalty to the Imperium is the only thing keeping it from just imploding into one planetary cultural civil war. I'm not going to drop them off only for them to be shunted into some unused corner of the planet and be hated simply because they showed up. That'd be like entrusting a human child to an ork for safekeeping."

"The Whara system?"

"A cemetery world turned asteroid field, a dead world, a barely-inhabited agri-world, and a hive world: not the best choices, seeing as the agri-worlders are treated like shit by the hivers."

"Starth system?"

"It could work, but they have a knight world that literally hunts prisoners to hone their skills on the nearby penal world, most of which are supplied by the third world, a hive one as well. The fourth is another agri-world, but they too are treated like shit by the hivers, and even more so by the knight world."

"Okay, so… Mastuonus Primus is your best bet."

"Exactly, though I will definitely have to talk with governor Delvidia first. Maybe she can make an exception this time. If I end up rescuing more refugees every time I go to war somewhere, I can't just be dumping them off on the people who support me, or soon I'll no longer have any friends."

With a nod, Prollarius left the captain alone in his room once more.

Solomon gently pinched the bridge of his nose as he lay back in his bed, twiddling his thumbs as he stared at the ceiling. All of these possible places had more problems than he was willing to deal with, and even if he could get all these people to stay on his moon base, it'd turn into some sort of colony before long: not exactly the "imposing fortress of solitude and eventual guiding light" he'd originally imagined. Still, he'd have to make do with what he had.

"I just hope the governor can understand what I'm going through right now," he muttered, before rolling over and trying to fall back asleep. Maybe he'd hear the two voices in his head again: hopefully he could get some advice.

* * *

"Madam, we believe we have received word from the psyker choirs of an event unfolding in the Woebus system. The scribes are trying to decipher the finer details, but we have received a rough picture of what has been going on."

Governor Delvidia looked up from the tithes report she had been quietly perusing. "Yes? What is it?" Psykers, despite being rare as a whole within the Imperium, were common enough that many of the more important or prosperous planets within the Imperium were able to have them stationed there… under heavy guard and surveillance, of course. A demonic incursion was never taken lightly, and after having heard of several, she personally made sure they were as guarded as one could be.

Her own psyker choir was a very expensive gift from a passing Inquisitorial Black ship, though they mostly served as a relay system for the messages of others. If not for her request, the lot would have likely gone to another world as a relay, but her connections and resources had made it possible her planet had one. It was just another thing to rub in the faces of rival planetary governors who had been passed over for such an opportunity.

"It involves the Rogue Trader you met with, Captain Solomon, in a war with orks," the servant said. "Apparently, he has been making a name for himself."

She blinked a few times in surprise before a small smile graced her lips. Interesting... "Please, tell me more."

* * *

Within the hangar bay of the Terra's Scion, several of the Woebus guardsmen that had been saved were mingling with the ship's own complement of troops. One such group was carefully explaining the new-looking attack craft when another guardsmen walked up. Well, a guardswoman, technically.

"What is this?" she asked. "I don't think I've ever seen a craft like this before."

"Oh, just something we recently received from Vaeria Primus," the pilot said. "Pretty neat, isn't it? Not as big as the original type, but a lot faster and more maneuverable."

"I heard the designs came from the captain himself," one of the others said.

"That's just a rumor," another said, walking up to the guardswoman. "You from Caervindus?"

"Originally," she said with a shrug. "I'm pretty much all that's left of my regiment. Knew Prollarius, thought I'd come on by and see about joining up. Can you tell me where he is?"

"Oh, him? He was off with the captain, last I checked," the man replied. "What's your name?"

She paused for a moment, as if in deep, contemplating thought. "Janeve Stell," she answered.

"Cool. Well, Janeve, the captain's quarters are easy enough to find, just ask around," the pilot said. "Once you get there, finding Prollarius should be easy."

"Thank you," she replied, before marching off.

"Say, you think there's something odd about that one?" one of the guardsmen asked as she disappeared from sight.

"What do you mean, mate?"

"Well, the way she held herself… noble-born?"

"I don't know, maybe. See the way she was lookin' over the craft?"

"Yeah, like she was upset, but also curious. Not sure what ta think of that. I mean, yeah, it's a new kind of craft that I heard the captain got from either Syngra or the governor of Vaeria Primus, but then again, they're both far from Mars. Maybe they got it from another Forge world?"

"Whatever, don't really care where they got it. Might as well get back to it, captain said he was going to be running drills when we get back to base."

"Yeah, I could use the practice."

 **A/N 2: again, I would like to apologize for this chapter taking so comparatively longer to put out. Life and trying to make this story more in-line with the 40K universe, such as with correct terminology and such, take their toll on you if you try and memorize it all. Also, I would like to extend a massive, heartfelt thanks to my new additional proofreader and beta-reader, Akularz-Shati. Her insight into the 40K universe has helped me immensely, and I look forward to more of their advice and helpful brainstorming ideas. Also, many props to my fellow 40K enthusiast and brainstormer, Amir-015: without them, as well as my original beta-reader Flame Falcon, this story would be nowhere near as good as it is.**

 **A/N 3: also, those planets and systems mentioned? Completely made up by myself, may or may not go into further detail on them in later chapters. As always, if you have any questions, comments or concerns, do not hesitate to leave them in a review, or to PM me.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

 **A/N: okay, so, this chapter does contain some more... graphic content, but I do not believe it yet warrants a M rating.**

Three weeks had passed for the crew of the _Terra's Scion_ above the planet of Woebus. By now many cities had been retaken, and the ork armies lie dead all over the planet, thanks to the capable forces of the Salamanders and Ultramarines, alongside the many Imperial Guard forces acting as garrisons or support troops. For now, the only major ork threats were in the distant deserts and mountainous regions, and soon enough, only the occasional ork raiding party would be the biggest worries for the citizens returning. However, unlike before, a permanent and sizable military presence would be needed to ensure the orks did not manage to form another large army.

Yet, many citizens did not return, either killed or no longer wishing to live on their beloved home world any more. Thousands of those who lived in the cities no longer had habitation fit for humans, and many who had toiled in the field of agriculture had nothing left to go back to. Much of the planet's fertile soil had been burned or torn apart by the ork hordes or by the firepower used to destroy them, and the ground itself was likely filled with the countless spores of the greenskins. The rebuilding effort would take years, maybe even decades, and even then, it would not be the planet it once was. Still, at least Woebus remained a planet of the Imperium.

To Solomon, it was perfectly reasonable that many did not wish to return to Woebus, and to move elsewhere instead. However, the sheer number of those formerly from Caervindus that wanted to go with _him_ , both out of necessity and out of some strange sense of thanks, meant he'd have to come up with something quick when he got back, or else that gratitude might turn to resentment. After months of war, he could very well understand that these people would not be able to just plop down and return to civilian life. It'd take some getting used to not being shot at, or being attacked in the dead of night, or not being extremely frightened by sudden loud noises.

Still, when he got back, the captain felt it would be very important to not go to war too soon. His troops were now veterans in a sense, but their training was still woefully incomplete. Discipline and a level-headed mindset would have to be instilled with all due haste, to both ensure their loyalty and improve their cohesion in battle. Their losses alone were enough reason to take it easy for a short time, regardless of what anyone else thought. Besides, now that Prollarius was officially back under his command, as "chief anti-ork commander", perhaps he could more fully prepare them for any ork forces they'd face.

Plus, the fact they helped out would surely spread throughout the Imperium, slowly but surely. In time, hopefully those with good intentions might seek him out.

"We shall be taking our leave, then, Mr. Cenus," Solomon said, looking into the wise visage of the Ultramarine librarian through the vox system. "It is high time my men and I return from whence we came."

"A shame you cannot stay to assist in the rebuilding, but we understand," the space marine replied. "We all have our duties, and yours right now is to your men, correct?"

"Yes," Solomon said. "I've got a lot of dead to bury, and after that pick up some new recruits. Then, I'll be needing to train them some more. I don't want to lose troops like I already have, so don't expect me to come to anyone's aid anytime in the immediate future."

"Understandable. Still, it is far better to be on hand with ten men then absent with ten thousand."

Solomon grinned. "That sounds familiar."

"It's a very old saying, from even before my time, though who said it, I cannot recall. Good luck to you, Captain Solomon, and should you need either of us, both the Ultramarines and the Salamanders will be ready to aid you. With courage and honor."

"Thank you," he replied. "Good luck to you as well."

With that, the vox connection was severed, and Solomon looked to his bridge crew, everyone at the ready to depart.

From a hidden camera, he was able to peer into the depths of the ship. The navigator sat secluded from the rest of the crew, as always, heavily hooked up to bunches of wires and sealed inside of a myriad of shield-like projections. His webbed hands were fairly strange, and nobody, not even Solomon, cared much to look at the man. Then again, most hadn't, for mutants were abhorrent to the Imperium and navigators were, as many believed, a necessary evil. All of their kind were shunned in one way or another, or even killed, regardless of their importance. Still, the man guided them through the Warp with great skill and acumen, as per the tradition of the house he belonged to, or so Solomon had read.

Well, it was time to leave Woebus behind. By now, they had completely exited the gravitational pull of both the planet and the system's star, having exited the system altogether. "Set course for Mastuonus Tertius," Solomon said. "Syngra, how long do you calculate our return trip?"

"Assuming no Warp fluctuations? Approximately the same time as our journey here," she replied. "We can only hope the navigator will take us safely through."

"More than our lives are at stake if he does not," Prollarius said. "The honor and prestige of his family house are on the line as well. Should he fail, his entire family's name will be forever shamed."

Solomon blinked. He had not been expecting that. Then again, with the batshit insane galaxy he now lived in, he guessed anything was possible.

Amidst the vast emptiness of space, a massive spiral of energy tore through the vacuum, and soon enough, the _Terra's Scion_ disappeared within its swirling maw.

* * *

"So now where do we go?" Inquisitor Triggerus asked. "Our leads on Woebus are all but gone, and our knowledge on the artifact is still woefully incomplete. It feels like we're right back where we started."

"My sentiments exactly," Brother Baramus replied as the pair wandered the more-traveled halls of the _Unbroken Oath_. The Ultramarines were due to leave within a few days, and already, judging from a distant warp portal, some already were.

"You don't have sentiments, all you care for is technology and your toaster wife."

"I know, and you leave Diodea out of this, she is none of your concern. Regardless, though, I believe I have deduced our next location," the tech priest said. "A world distant from here, Jouran. Many of the former crew who came across the relic originated from there."

"But we were already there!" Triggerus said as the pair passed a lone Ultramarine. "How are we supposed to find this damned _Terra's Scion_ and this "Captain Solomon" if we keep asking the same people? Other members of the Inquisition have undoubtedly heard of our search, and are likely on the lookout as well. When word gets out from the survivors of Woebus about his involvement, those who didn't vanish on Terra will surely send their own agents to look for him!"

"Excuse me, did you say the _Terra's Scion_ and Captain Solomon?" the large space marine asked, stopping in his tracks.

"Yes, we wish to find the cruiser of that name. We also seek to meet with the captain," Baramus said. "Have you heard of either of them?"

"It just left the system, I believe. The captain and his ship came to the aid of the planet a short time ago. In fact, from what I have heard, he was primarily responsible for the evacuation of both Ardentum and Caervindus. Weren't you both at Ardentum's evacuation?"

Triggerus felt his hand twitch towards his bolter pistol, but stayed his anger. Shooting a space marine for delivering news he didn't like, especially an Ultramarine on one of their own ships, would earn him more than a slap on the hand. Maybe being fired out of a cannon towards a local star, or an enemy ship, if he were lucky. If not... then he'd be fired out of an empty missile pod into the Eye of Terror, or sent to the front lines on Cadia. Or maybe dropped naked in the middle of a Catachan valley. "It was in orbit, and we only hear of that now? Why is that?"

"I did not know of your mission to find Captain Solomon or his ship. If I had, I would have gladly assisted in arranging a meeting with representatives of the Inquisition and the Adeptus Mechanicus."

"So, you have spoken with him, this Solomon?" Baramus asked in a suddenly buzzing voice, his interest piqued beyond normal levels. "We would very much like to hear what it was you discussed, and any insights you have on the man."

Brother Leandros nodded. "I will gladly tell you all I know."

* * *

In shuddering lurch, the darkness of the Warp vanished outside of the bridge, and dim twinkling lights of countless stars greeted them instead. They had emerged at the outside of the Mastuonus System, a long ways from the moon of Talmanjir but far enough out that the gravitational pull of the planets and the star would not reduce them to a space hulk.

Still, the time on the ship had not been very pleasant. After several other outbursts from various crew, all of whom were still recovering in the medical wing, Solomon felt that some time out of the ship and recuperating on safe ground would be better for them. Even if they did practically live on his ship, spending even a little time off of it was better than nothing. That, and keeping morale up by doing so would be more likely to prevent desertion on an inhabited world.

Most of the refugees had never been on a ship before, and as such were often going where they shouldn't or asking technical questions that would, on another ship, earn them a one-way ticket out of an airlock. The guardsmen had had to take several long shifts, being kept awake around the clock to keep an eye on everyone, in order to ensure none wandered out of the hangar bays. Already there were whispers of discontent amongst some of the refugees, wondering if their salvation had been worth this kind of treatment. More had been a little freaked out by the chemical showers they had to take, to make sure none of them had been carrying any ork spores with them. The hangar bays had been bathed with enough radiation to kill any spores left behind, so for now, they needn't worry about orks popping up somewhere.

Still, everyone was in a foul mood by now. So, as the ship approached the moon, Solomon glanced at Syngra.

"How long were we in the Warp?"

"Approximately five days Warp time, sir, although that is assuming the time keepers have not been slacking off again."

"How long did it take us to get to Woebus from the Mastuonus System?"

"Around three days Warp time."

"So I'm _not_ losing my mind. We really are taking longer to get back than we did to get there." Who knew how many months had passed by in real space during that time? He'd have to ask someone as soon as he returned to his base. He'd found some reading material that stated, on average, warp travel amounted to twelve days in real space for every day in the Warp, at least for shorter distances. For longer ones, it was anyone's guess, and even then, it all depended on how calm the Warp "waters" were.

"So far, it would seem that is the case."

"Damnit. There really has to be a better way of FTL movement other than this."

"If humanity once knew of such a means, it has been long lost to us," Syngra said. "Much knowledge was lost in the Dark Age of Technology. That is why entire fleets are sent if evidence is uncovered of the possible location of a STC. Wars have been fought over them between rival factions within the Imperium itself."

"So, what do we do if we find one?" Great, just what this future needed: supposedly "allied" factions going to war over the equivalent of flash drives showing how to build a mechanized rockem-sockem robot that shat lightning and spewed bullets from its face.

This future was looking grimmer and grimmer the more he learned about it.

"I suggest we give it to the Adeptus Mechanicus," Syngra replied. "Perhaps it would also be useful as a bargaining chip? Many within the Mechanicus will likely not be too pleased once word gets out of the things you and I have been creating. They would surely leave us alone for a while if we were to give them an intact one, as a show of good faith."

"Once we secretly copy it, of course."

"Precisely."

"Captain, we're being hailed," one of the bridge crew said as they came into orbit over the moon of Talmanjir.

"All right, bring them up."

A few moments of silence, and then a mostly-clear image came into view. "Who goes there?" the man on the other end asked.

"It is I, Captain Solomon, of the _Terra's Scion_ ," was the reply.

"Captain? Oh, wow, it's good ta see you, sir."

"It is?"

"Yes, it's been months since we heard from you. We've made a lot of progress on home base, I hope you like it."

"How many months were we gone?"

"Eh… not quite sure. I'd say maybe eight or nine? That's assuming the time keepers have been accurate."

"So, I've been gone almost a year?" Solomon asked. How did anything get done in this Imperium if it took almost a year to just go and help with one planetary conflict, and then return? There were billions of planets in the galaxy, and untold numbers of both human and xeno. How was anyone supposed to keep things in order, or better yet, respond to any real threat?

"Yes sir," the guardsmen on the other end said. "We were wondering when you'd get back. Not that we were afraid you'd abandoned us or anything, it's just... it's nice to see a familiar face, sir."

Well, at least there was that. "The base… how many can it hold?"

"What, you mean like troops? We've got room for thousands by now, if they don't minding bunking together."

"Yes. I've got injured on board, and a bunch of refugees from Woebus. They'll be better off down on the surface than up in here."

"I'll let the others know."

"Good, see that you do. I will be down shortly with them."

* * *

"Wow, you guys really outdid yourselves."

Solomon, even as he said that, felt it was an understatement. The castle was huge, though why it was a castle, he didn't exactly know. Yet, according to the guardsmen, it was incredibly sturdy, and fortified to the literally teeth. Seriously, there were actual teeth carved into certain parts of the castle buttresses, to make it look all the more fierce. Inside, the corridors, hallways and rooms seemed like those of a bunker, and the buttresses outside looked even more so.

Still, that was only the tip of the iceberg. From the top of the fortress, in a tower loaded with vox equipment and what Solomon assumed were to be Syngra's quarters, he could survey almost all the land around him. Down in the valleys, farms pulled water from rivers into fields filled with near knee-high crops, imported from Mastuonus Prime. There had been no roads when he left the moon behind, but now they twisted and twined their way along rocky ledges, down into narrow valleys, and around small outcroppings.

Off in the distance, a small mining operation was in full swing near an equally small quarry. Granted, the fact that the both of them had so far supplied the needed raw materials was astounding, but the guardsmen had told him they'd run out soon enough. He'd likely have to either venture out further onto the planet to find more, or import the materials from elsewhere.

"Thank you, sir," the guardsmen said. "We've been busy since you left."

"I guess so. Say, what about those little clusters of houses I'm seeing?"

"Oh, the hivers made their own living quarters with whatever scraps we had. Pretty industrious folks, though…"

"Though?"

"We've… got a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"Yesterday, we found some stuff missing from the armory."

Solomon's eyes twitched. Oh joy, more bad news. First all the shit on Woebus, then the damned trip back, and now this. How much more was he going to have to deal with today? "What kind of stuff?"

"A few standard lasguns, but… we're also missing a few experimental things. Some swords like yours, but a lot smaller, and a few new sets of armor."

"Who stole it?"

"We managed to search the small hiver settlements while everyone was coming down from the ship… except for one."

"Which one?"

"Remember the hivers that were always dressing in purple robes?"

"Yeah, the expensive ones? You think they did it?"

"No doubt. Everyone's been feeling weird around them, and right now, they are the only possible suspects left."

* * *

The top of the small plateau was an attacker's nightmare. There was only a small path up the side to reach it, and a very exposed area before the buildings themselves provided any sort of cover. Yet, the guardsmen weren't really attacking, because nobody was bothering to defend. There was no sign of any human in or around the entire settlement.

It creeped Solomon out. He was now glad he had brought as many troops as he did. "I don't like the looks of this," he muttered as he walked into the village.

"You got a bad feeling?" Prollarius asked as the other fell into line behind them.

"Of course. I don't like the way those buildings are arranged," Solomon said. "From up above, they kinda looked like a star and pretty spread out, but down here… they're just so close together." The alleys and passages between the upper floors were very shady-looking, as if someone could literally just step out the shadows and shank you in the ass if you weren't paying attention. Solomon would prefer his ass to remain un-shanked, if possible.

"They built them the way they wanted to, I guess."

Solomon nodded. "Yeah, sure. All right, everyone, keep an eye out for anything suspicious. We don't know how many people here might be in on this theft, so take it easy, and take it slow."

Fanning out from the cramped entrance to the densely-packed village, Prollarius and the other guardsmen followed Solomon, all eyes trained on the doors and windows. Given the fact that there had been enough hivers here to likely create a self-sustaining population for a while, it was a wonder that none were visible. There were no children running around outside, no sign of anyone having opened a window, not even footprints.

"Guardsmen Zita, how long did you say they'd not shown up?"

"A few days, didn't think much of it," the woman replied. "They usually stuck to themselves all the time, even when working. Before the incident, none of them gave us any trouble. We just thought they were weird was all."

"And the veteran guardsmen, Commissar Faelonius?" The man hadn't been fully trained as a commissar, but filled the same role as one, being old enough to be the father of any of the other troops, yet in great enough shape to kick anyone's ass if need be. That, and he was a gruff but fair man, though his levelheadedness was what Solomon appreciated most.

"Same, said as long as they didn't get in our way or make trouble, they'd be left alone. Now I'm wondering if that was such a good idea."

"You are questioning a commissar's decisions?" Prollarius asked.

"No sir, merely wondering if leaving them alone may have been too lenient. Hivers are known for forming gangs, and all gangs seek power in some form or another."

"So, stealing weapons would certainly give them some power," Solomon muttered as the doors were opened to the smaller houses. The guardsmen who entered exited just as quickly, shaking their heads. No signs of the hivers in there either. "But why now? They're outnumbered and outgunned in every aspect, and none of them would know how to fly one of the shuttles. I mean, why would they? That feral world beneath us is teeming with predators, they wouldn't last two days."

"It'd take longer for them to get to any other world in the system than they'd have an air or food supply," Prollarius agreed. "Those shuttles can't enter the Warp either, so there'd be nowhere else to go."

"Then where are they?"

"Sir!" one of the guardsmen called out, nearest one of the larger homes. "I think I found something."

"What is it?" Solomon asked.

"I… I think it is blood, sir."

With most others converging on the scene, Solomon looked closer. At the bottom of the door, there was indeed a small amount of liquid leaking from around the seams. Red, almost black, and very congealed in nature.

"Private, open the door, slowly," he said.

The man nodded and did as he was told. As soon as it slid open, a torrent of blood spilled out, flowing out past the surprised man's knees and out into the area. The smell that hit the guardsmen made many retch in disgust; a few even puked. Solomon felt his own lungs try to punch their way out of his throat, trying to escape the terrible air that filled them.

"What the-," was all the first guardsmen got to say before a sickle shape pierced his abdomen, blood spraying out from his back. With a high-pitched scream, like that of a wounded animal, he was pulled within the house's dark interior, where his scream came to a suddenly and presumably violent end. Violent, yes, seeing as a spray of blood, followed by a shredded, headless torso, came flying out immediately afterwards.

Before anyone could fire, or in some cases even raise their weapons, a figure stepped out. The skin, as pink as that of a newborn baby, and as flawlessly featured, nearly shone in the light of day. A lively, writhing mass of tentacles, where there should have been hair, and it carried with it a grace that defied physics. Long legs and slender arms, one of which ended in a clawed hand: the other ended at the elbow, with a large claw shaped like a sickle emerging from where the forearm should have been. There was a singular and fairly large breast, the location of the other replaced by a large mass of perfectly sculpted pectoral muscle. Every other muscle was firmly etched, perfectly portioned, the epitome of perfection and of a strength great yet hidden. A low-hanging cloth swung between the legs, hints of something more swinging behind it.

But the face, the face was what stunned everyone. Absolutely horrifying to behold, yet graced with a beauty that defied all comprehension. A smile so wicked it froze one's soul, and yet so alluring that a few soldiers lowered their weapons. Slightly pointed ears, graceful as a feather and yet flecked with what could only have been blood. Eyes that seemed to stare directly into your soul, and drag it out of the confines of your body, to toss it asunder in the inky blackness of the Warp.

Its smile continued as it strode forward, and fast as could be, sliced a guardsmen in two from the groin to the neck with its massive sickle arm without even looking at him. In an instant, before the man's halves had hit the ground, it turned on another and pulled him close. The man didn't even scream as his body was flayed apart without any effort, a smile on his lips until they were forcefully shredded off.

Solomon felt himself freeze. It was so beautiful, so horrifying, but so… alluring… should he approach? That sounded like a good idea, surely it wouldn't hurt him…

" _Solomon!_ "

He blinked, halting before he could finish his first step. He knew that voice from somewhere…

 _"_ _Solomon, snap out of it! That wretch will kill you if she gets close enough!"_

Blinking quickly, it was as if a fog had been suddenly cleared from his mind, though now a severe headache had taken its place. Looking upon the creature once again through a squinted gaze, Solomon felt no more allure, but only abject horror as it seized one of his troops, who had apparently come to just too late. With a horrifying screech she was shredded into chunks of flesh, the blood pooling on the ground beneath them.

"Shoot it!" he shouted, just as more guardsmen seemed to snap out of it. That, or his voice did the job. "Shoot it, damn you!"

With a warcry he leveled his lasgun and fired, as did more guardsmen who arrived on the scene, but the creature was far too quick. Dodging sideways, and ducking underneath the blast of another guardsmen's rifle, it flung the man into the air and impaled him on its long sickle, ichor dripping onto the ground as he cried out in agony. The thing merely smiled at his cries, licking its lips as blood sprayed over its face. Without effort it tossed the man headfirst into a wall, where his screams were cut off by a sickening _crunch_.

"What are you waiting for? The captain said shoot it!" Prollarius called out, having come to his senses and firing his bolter pistol. More troops opened up as the creature darted around the area, crushing corpses and wounded alike underfoot as it ran.

Falling to the ground to avoid a swipe that tore the head off a fellow soldier, Private Zita barely rolled out of the way of a talon-covered foot that smashed into the ground right next to her. She turned and fired at the creature, but it had already moved on past her, a shrill screeching laugh echoing from its throat as it tore the arms off another trooper, her screams piercing the dim. Dust and dirt flew everywhere from the copious amounts of firepower raining down upon the area, mixing freely with mists of blood and organs as the creature slaughtered or maimed all in its path. It shrieked in pleasure and laughed at the decadence of the blood around it, the screams of the dying mixing with its own crescendos of mirth in some horrible parody of music.

Solomon dove to the ground to avoid the flying head of a guard and fired once again in the creature's direction, just as it lifted another guardsmen into the air. This time, however, his aim was true, and the blast landed directly at the creature's knee joint. In a burst of energy, blood and bone, the entire leg blew apart. Startled and suddenly off-kilter, the creature dropped the screaming guardsmen and fell to the ground. Yet, it was not done, and did not even seem grimaced by what would have surely been a mortal wound. Clearly, it was no normal mortal creature, for with a smile still on its features, it swept out the sickle talon and tore through another guard's stomach, bits of entrails flying everywhere as he fell to the ground.

"Shoot it!" Solomon cried as Prollarius fired his bolter pistol into the thing's torso, chunks of meat tearing out the back as the miniature missiles ripped through the air. Yet still, it scrambled around, pulling a wounded guardswoman and cradling her against it chest, the woman choking in agony as blood sprayed everywhere. "Shoot it!"

Even as more and more rounds struck the downed creature, it smiled, laughing, in an almost sing-song voice, its beauty marred by the ever-increasing number of holes and burns peppering the body. It seemed to writhe in sublime ecstasy as its body was torn to shreds by combined lasgun fire and bolter pistol rounds.

By the time it was over, dozens of guards were dead, many more in differing states of injury, and the ground around the creature's barely-identifiable remains was scorched to oblivion. Solomon and many others retched or outright vomited, others fainted, and a few started crying, slumping against others or over the bodies of fallen comrades.

It had all happened in mere minutes.

All of this carnage, all of this death... all by just one creature. One, single entity.

"What… what in the name of the Emperor was that?" Solomon asked. He felt awful, in so many ways. For one, he was scared, more than when he had fought the orks, for that thing was like a nightmare from hell made flesh. Along with that, he also felt a great amount of guilt and regret. Once again, he had led troops into a fight he had no experience in, and once again, he had lost many more than he had anticipated.

"I… I do not know," Prollarius replied, wiping his mouth as his vomiting ceased. "I've never seen anything like that before."

"Is it dead?"

"I… think… so," Private Zita muttered, her dry heaving interrupting her occasionally. "There's…. not much left… sir."

"Keep an eye on it, just in case," Solomon said. "You there, look inside, are there more of them?"

One of the few standing guards cautiously glanced inside the room, a flashlight illuminating the interior. Almost immediately, he audibly retched. "No, sir, but… I think I found the hivers. They're… oh by the Emperor, what were they _doing_ in there?"

Solomon mustered his strength and moved to see inside. The corpses of the hivers lay scattered or stacked in piles in the room, with strange symbols carved into their flesh, or scribbled on the walls, often in blood. The ceiling dripped with blood and the unidentifiable remains of what may have been organs, slathered like paste across everything. Even the hiver children, they were… they were...

Solomon puked, the bitter burning sensation of his stomach acid forcefully exiting through his mouth a testament to the scene before him. He knew where the newer swords had gone: right through the skulls or abdomens of the children, pinning them to walls or to the floor like horrid dolls.

"Everyone, leave, now," he said, leaning against a building for support. "Grab the wounded if they'll make it. We're getting out of here _now_."

"What of the dead?" one of the newer guardsmen asked. What had she called herself again? Janeve or something? Solomon didn't know, she was from some near-wiped out regiment from Woebus that joined him.

"Leave them," Prollarius replied as he turned to Solomon. "What do we do?"

"We must destroy all of this," the man muttered, wiping his mouth of the thick slurry of puke and saliva. "All witnesses must be briefed on what we saw. I can't let this get out. Who knows what other parts of the Imperium will do if they find out this happened?"

"How do we destroy it? Shoot it from orbit with the main weapons of the _Terra's Scion_?"

"No, too imprecise, and we could hit something important," Solomon muttered, his mind racing. "We'll send in a fleet of attack craft, they need practice anyways. The cover story will be that the hivers died of some disease and the village needs to be wiped off the map to prevent it from possibly spreading. Quarantine the area with whoever isn't shitting their pants in terror right now, and retrieve them once it's done. They'll need to be briefed and kept an eye on as well, or else who knows what else could happen?"

"Yes sir," Prollarius said, before the two walked off and helped move out what few still-living injured that were left. The creature's shredding sickle arm had not left many.

Behind the group, one of the guardswomen still standing looked down at the creature and, quickly, put a bolter pistol round through what was left of its head. "Time to keep an eye on them," she muttered, looking up at the others. Janeve Stell was nothing if not cautious, as per the training she had undergone had instilled into her.

Those bearing the signs of chaotic taint would have to be… dealt with, as quickly and quietly as possible. None were above scrutiny, not even Captain Solomon.

* * *

From atop the tower, wearing a fresh change of clothes and feeling utterly exhausted, Solomon watched silently as waves upon waves of attack craft bombers flew down from the ship in orbit and struck the village with copious amounts of bombs, rockets and incendiary weapons. He knew the village would be gone from that much firepower, but had to watch it be wiped off the surface of the moon. The throbbing in his head seemed to time perfectly with the flashes of light off in the distance.

"Captain Solomon, I am glad the disease did not affect you," a voice said. Turning away from the distant flashes of light amidst the encroaching darkness of night, Solomon noticed Syngra was busy inscribing data into a codex of sorts. Several templates were held aloft by her Mechandrites, likely references and detailed notes she had taken during research and development.

"A report for your order?" She had written very few things about the Adeptus Mechanicum, though she had told him plenty. The technological marvels they did not mass produce for the rest of the Imperium, their hoarding ways, their obsession with technology to the point where it was definitely not healthy…

"Yes, I'm afraid. As much as it would damn myself as well as you, I cannot in good conscience let our progress or innovations go unknown," she said. "Others will undoubtedly benefit from such knowledge. However…"

"Yes?"

"I did not say _when_ I would be sending this codex to my superiors. Hopefully, when we have long since become far too useful to target, or far too powerful to be dealt with: either way, I shall delay sending them this as long as possible."

In spite of the day's events, and the knowledge that the Adeptus Mechanicus would likely try to kill him for fiddling with technology, Solomon smiled. "Thanks, Syngra. Good to know you've got my back."

"As you do my own," she replied, smiling. "What will you do now?"

"Sleep," he replied. "Go and sleep for, I don't know, a day or something. I have a splitting headache right now, and I think the medication is just about to kick in. In the meantime, if you could, send Governor Delvidia a message detailing of what has transpired so far, though leave out the bits of this village being wiped out. I would hate for her to think me ungrateful for what she's done, if I don't inform her when I have returned to the system."

"Consider it done, sir," Syngra said as he left the room. "Goodnight, captain."

"Goodnight, Syngra."

 **A/N 2: well, this took a bit longer than I expected, but for several reasons. One, life has been busy with job searches and the like, and I can't exactly ignore that. Two, going back and forth with my proofreaders and betas about the plot, characters and canon stuff. In line with that, also, a lot of research: specifically, on daemons, daemonhosts, damonettes, how to kill them, and all that heretical stuff. Thank you for your patience, I shall strive to write the next chapter in a timely manner, should life not keep throwing me curveballs.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

 **A/N: well, sorry for the wait for this chapter. I was around three thousand words in, didn't like the original direction it was going, and rewrote it completely from scratch. That, and it coincided with a class I took to become certified as a Wildland firefighter, so, that's primary reason for this chapter's delay in getting published. Oh, as well as job applications and interviews. Anyways, enjoy!**

In the bright light of what the chronometer by his bed told him was late morning, Solomon rose from his bed within the confines of his newly-furbished castle room. It had taken some work, but the laborers had managed to create a bed that didn't threaten to collapse if he slept in it. However, that did not matter too much right now. As it turned out, that headache from the other day was directly because of that voice that had spoken to him. It had been, as it turned out, Eve.

" _Solomon, are you okay? Sorry for the sudden intrusion, but you were contemplating approaching that filthy abomination_. _You are extremely lucky that I intervened._ "

"Just what in the hell was that thing?" This night, Solomon's dream had been of cannibalistic orks made of sand, so the intrusion of the voices in his head was a welcome relief.

" _That was a daemonette, a scion of the entity known as Slaanesh. It is the Warp-inhabiting manifestation of all pleasure and pain within the entire galaxy from soul-bearing species, and has been a primary source of all suffering within the galaxy, It also is a massive penetration addict that can make anything uncomfortably sexual._ "

"A primary source? What other sources are there?" The idea of all emotions, ranging from the most pure to the most debased, manifesting themselves into the Warp to where a being was created, and that being was such responsible for countless suffering, blew his mind.

" _There are four in total, called Chaos Gods. They are Slaanesh, Khorne, Nurgle and Tzeentch. Nurgle is nature itself incarnate, a cycle of life and death, though he enjoys spreading disease all across the galaxy. Imagine a pile of feces combining with a vat of medical waste, and then dunked in a chemical dump site: that is Nurgle. Khorne is martial prowess, bloodshed and savagery upon a throne of skulls, while somehow still being dutiful and honorable. The "murderboner", as I have heard your troops refer to it as when you train them, is strongest in him above all others. Tzeentch is a beacon of hope, but also a devious trickster with an often self-defeating mindset and an indecisiveness bordering on laziness. He also shape-shifts, so you can never tell exactly what he looks like unless you are absolutely insane, which he may or may not be as well._ "

"That… that sounds awfully unfair." Thankfully there weren't more, or else the entire galaxy would be an even bigger shitstorm than it currently was. Still, four was around four too many, it seemed.

" _Unfair?_ " Adam interjected, having been merely listening to their conversation. " _There far worse things out there than a mere daemonette_. _Why should that be a surprise to you_?"

"What the hell am I supposed to do against something like that? I can't just erase the psyche of anyone, let alone everything, if I am to try and fight them. Besides, if they are even a fraction as powerful as I am trying to comprehend, then how is anyone supposed to hold off, let alone defeat their forces? They could take losses even the Imperium would find horrifying, yet could still just come back from it."

" _Yes, they are a resilient and constant foe, and all the more dangerous in just how insidious they can be,"_ Adam replied _. "They seek to dominate all life in the galaxy, through outright control or by destroying from the inside. They know no fear, cannot be reasoned or bargained with, and can send forth untold legions of their minions at any given point. They seek only to corrupt, to conquer, and to destroy. Or, in the case of Slaanesh, to sexually violate_."

"Well, jeez, thanks, that gives me _so_ much confidence in what I have to do," Solomon muttered. "Why pick me if there's an obstacle like this? It's insurmountable, even if the entire Imperium was at my personal beck and call. Hell, even if all orks were too."

" _It is not an entirely hopeless battle,_ " Eve said, her voice a soothing calm on Solomon's nerves. " _There are many who resist the temptation of chaos, both human and alien alike. Divided, separated, they can only try to keep the chaos at bay, and often fail more than they succeed. But united, with a common goal in mind, they can drive it back, gain the room needed to live and grow_."

"But… the galaxy is such a huge place," Solomon said. "Like, really, really, almost incomprehensibly huge, to the point where nobody really has a sense of scale. In such a massive place, so many humans, let alone aliens, are so different. Too many would rather fight one another over the shittiest of ideals rather than try and work together, let alone get along. I read a bunch of the history codices Ordacius kept in his personal library, all so heavy-handed in their writing I'd be amazed if even half of them contain some sort of truth. There have been many contacts with alien civilizations in the history of humanity, and almost all of them have been either horrible or extremely horrible. I don't even want to start on the infighting between humans over some of the dumbest shit, led by some of the dumbest or most evil people I have ever heard of."

" _Not all aliens are hostile towards mankind, especially if they have not yet developed the means to traverse the stars,"_ Adam said. " _Those with their own ideals and goals, with their own stellar empires, as the ones that have proven most unwelcome to the greater collective of mankind's dominion over the galaxy. It is our birthright_."

"But why?" Solomon asked. "Why is just _our_ birthright?"

" _Because it is._ " Adam's slight tone shift left little doubt he did not wish the subject to be discussed further. The tone also carried the hint that any further argument on the matter would not end well. Strange, how three words could convey so much meaning.

"Regardless, surely there are xenos out there willing to ally with humanity, if only for protection? What of those whose numbers or reproductive rates are too slow to allow for rapid expansion or a stellar empire, or those who physically cannot live on any other worlds other than their own? What of those who do not possess the means of even leaving their home planet or system?"

" _There have been many of these, and many have been wiped out by the Imperium as a whole, and to a lesser extent, by orks, chaos, and others,_ " Eve said. " _However, in spite of the strife flowing throughout the galaxy… things are changing. It would not be totally unheard of for xenos or mutants that are beneficial to humanity to become part of the Imperium, if history is anything to go by. Ogryns, for their brute strength and unwavering loyalty, even if they are at a reduced intelligence: they are used by many across the Imperium. Psykers, although only if sanctioned, are vital to the Imperium's survival, as are the three-eyed Navigators. On some more isolated worlds, or even amongst Rogue Traders, there are those who hire out for xenos mercenaries, or even employ them to the level of a trusted companion._ "

"So, if I found sections of humanity, mutated or evolved in some way, that could be beneficial to mankind, I can use them? Same for xenos?"

" _As best you can, but if you do find either of them, I would suggest keeping their existence either a secret, or put in some means to heavily regulate them_ ," Adam said. " _Many in the Imperium would not hesitate to try and destroy any trace of mutation, even if it proves to be beneficial to all mankind, and many more view any xeno as a mistrustful pest at best. There are so many factions, so many powers at play, that even unified, mankind is and always has been divided in some way over some of the most idiotic things_."

"Then, even with a common purpose, and a common goal to strive for, I'll have to be extra careful of any of the countless organizations within the Imperium, and beyond," Solomon replied.

" _Exactly._ "

"Great. Just… great."

* * *

"Any messages?" The morning by now was well into the early afternoon, but given how much rest both he and his troops needed, Solomon didn't care.

"Yes, there have been several transmitted while the base slept," Adept Syngra mentioned as she used her mechandrites to fiddle with what looked like a toaster connected to a lawnmower and a series of small pipes holding light bulbs. Solomon didn't know what it was, and he really didn't want to ask.

"From?"

"Governor Delvidia. She seemed highly interested in hearing what has happened since she last saw you."

"… how interested did she sound?" In his head, Solomon imagined the governor throwing some lavish party in celebration of their victory, as well as a tribute to his troops visiting home once again. From what he had read in the ship's library, most troops were lucky if they ever even heard from their home planet once they left to fight, let alone return after their tours were over. That was also assuming if their tours were ever over.

"Fairly. Shall I send her a reply?"

He was quiet for a few moments, thoughts bouncing around in his brain like a bunch of rubber balls. One the one hand, hearing how badly he had botched the fight and all the troops he lost would surely bring more than a small amount of discontent from the planet's populace, but then again, the victory over the orks could very well override that if played carefully. He didn't want to lie any more than he had to, seeing as a lie of omission was still a lie, but… perhaps keeping others in the dark would work better if he managed to keep them friendly.

"Sure. Let her know I will be stopping by in a week or two. There are some… things I need to take care of first."

"Such as?" Syngra asked, now strapping three bolts, a dynamo and a large power pack to whatever she was fiddling with. "By now, that plague-ridden village has no doubt been wiped off the map."

"Oh, yeah, it totally has," Solomon muttered. He had looked out the window. Even now, likely hours after they had finished, the former village was a still-smoking crater. "One thing I wanted to go over with was dealing with the refugees from Woebus."

"Weren't you going to take them to Mastuonus Primus for resettlement?"

"Well, yes, some, but a lot of them weren't farmers, and in no shape to just get back to work immediately. I need to find them something to do, and right now, I think I do as well. I can't just rush off to war every chance I get, or I'll run out of men faster than I can replace, let alone train them. Right now, my troops need rest and recuperation, not the stress of refugee relocation or the potential of war."

"What of the dead up in the cargo holds?"

"They will be buried with honor when I can find the time, preferably buried on their world. Now, about the refugees, especially the children… what sort of schooling do you think they have? I have some ideas I'd like to go through with you and some of the others."

* * *

In the silent darkness of space, a small flotilla of ships sat alone, all lights powered down as per instructions from the captain. One of their sister ship's quarry was some ways away. Following them at an undetectable distance, but there were other targets within the nearby systems, ones far more worthy of their own downtime.

"What is the planet's function?" one of the wyches asked. "This isolated system is so sparsely populated, I am wondering why our "dear" cousins are moving towards it."

"I do not know, but this world is used to grow food for the mon'keigh Imperium. Sparsely populated, even less protected, in a system with one wild world, and another mining one. I am surprised we haven't attacked here yet. Which would you rather plunder?"

"Hmm, tough to say, all three are so lightly defended it would almost be too easy," another said. "The mining world would be good for both slaves and materials."

"Yes, but the wild world would be far more challenging, and perhaps, filled with specimens we could sell for a high price on Commoragh."

"Yet the first world is far more populated than the others, and has supplies we cannot do without," one of the eldest said is a raspy tone. "Food runs all empires, save for the damn greenskins and the hated Necrons, for without it defenses crumble, armies are ground into dust, and entire planets can fall without effort."

"So, which do we raid?" a wych asked, much younger than most.

"For now, none, though I would prefer the food world," the eldest said, her pale complexion seemingly shining in the dark of the room. "We will wait for them to concentrate themselves, to make themselves a far easier target. Mon'keighs on worlds like these often gather for festivals celebrating harvests or events of great importance. As the planet's biosphere indicates, it will soon be the time for their annual harvest, and afterwards is when they shall gather in their greatest concentrations. They will be tired, unaware, relaxed… the perfect targets."

"Until then, we wait?"

"Exactly, young one. Until the time is right, we wait."

* * *

As the _Terra's Scion_ gently floated through space towards Mastuonus Primus, Solomon was quietly reading in his room, pouring through whatever books formerly belonging to Ordacius that he could, musing on the events of the past few days.

Well, the establishment of the first school of Talmanjir had gone off to a rather optimistically good start. None of the children from Woebus had fought with the children of the remaining hivers from Whara IV, nor had any of the Woebus children shown signs of suicidal thoughts. Definitely trauma, though, so Solomon had had his hands full finding out who was most qualified to help the children out. As it turned out, it was one of his guardsmen, Janeve something or other. She had a way with children he hadn't expected, so was all too glad to make her somewhat of the school's principal, disciplinarian and guidance counselor all rolled into one.

Still, all of this was very new, and finding homes hadn't been very easy. Many from Woebus were bunking with others in rooms designed for four, but were now holding nearly a dozen. Food, thankfully, had not been an issue, though some of the refugees were a bit unhappy with the colored food paste and ration bars they were served. The guardsmen had been a bit underwhelmed by the same at first, coming from an agri-world where food was plentiful, but through their initial training had gotten used to it, and to some extent, enjoyed it. Solomon thought it tasted like pudding or some weird fruity vegetable paste, yet some of the officers swore it tasted of chicken.

Somehow, in some way, even in this grim, dark, far-flung future, stuff still somehow managed to taste like chicken.

He'd have to look into getting the kitchens some new things to put into the food pastes and ration bars, if only to improve or change the flavor. Maybe some spices or something like that, he wanted his troops to eat good enough but still experience hardship to toughen them against future horrors. Solomon knew he'd have to face many more than just those orks and a daemonette.

Curiously, in regards to that… incident, several of his troops who had been privy to the experience had up and died, completely out of the blue. One died in his bed from a rare allergic reaction, another pair died in the midst of a mock-battle (he'd have to find who was using that real grenade), and a few more had somehow wound up in the garbage chutes, only to be accidentally spaced with the rest of the non-reusable trash. The other troops from the incident had been fairly lucky, showing no hint of dissent or having told others what had actually happened. For that much, at least, he was grateful.

Still, as the planet of Mastuonus Primus grew closer and closer, he couldn't help but wonder… had word of his deeds on Woebus gotten back to Delvidia in their true form? Or had they been blown so out of proportion that she'd think he'd bested an ork warboss in single combat atop a falling valkyrie with his bare fists? Would the governess be impressed, regretful, or something else entirely?

He had to admit, the one about the fist fight sounded pretty awesome. Completely and utterly false, yes, but still… pretty awesome.

"Syngra?" he asked over the vox.

"Yes?" came the reply.

"Prep my shuttle."

"Will do, sir."

Several hours later…

"Wow, this is new."

Syngra couldn't have been more correct. Not only was there the governor's honor guard waiting for Solomon and what crew he had taken with him, but judging from the banners and signs posted everywhere, Solomon's visit was coinciding with some sort of planetary celebration. People were milling about far more than usual, and from the shuttle, everyone had been able to see the vast fields of crops had been harvested fairly recently. Even in the light of the very early morning, the fact that all of this was noticeable was simply incredible.

"What's going on?" Solomon asked the captain of the honor guard, a rather short but broad man with an impressively curled moustache.

"It is the Festum Messis, an ancient tradition commemorating another successful growing season," the man said as they worked their way through the crowds. "Every year, once all crops have been harvested, a celebration begins that is to last a week, though in light of recent events, that might now be two weeks."

"Recent events?"

"News of the victory on Woebus, sir, thanks in part to you and the troops from our humble world. Most families know they'll never see their sons or daughters again because of their commitment to the Imperial Guard, but take comfort in the fact they played a part in a great victory."

"I… see. Is the governess expecting us?"

"Actually, she's expecting just _you_. Your cohort will be provided the finest refreshments available in the palace gardens."

Solomon turned to Syngra and the others. "Do as he says, and Syngra, keep an eye open for anything… suspicious."

"Such as?"

"Not sure, just… anything you'd assume to be out of the ordinary."

* * *

"Captain Solomon!"

Governor Delvidia was, as apparently always, dressed very resplendently, even this early in the morning. Her gown, a shimmering silken material the color of sapphires, was laced with what Solomon could only assume were extremely expensive animal furs. The makeup, while not very heavy, reminded him of what he had seen in textbooks of his time, like the eyeliner of ancient Egypt. The room was also highly decorated, in paintings, rugs, and what must have been ancient relics of the planet's history.

"Your Excellency," he said, giving a curt bow. "I was told you wished to see me?"

"Yes, yes, come, sit, we have much to discuss," she said, motioning towards a pair of reclining beds.

"Such as?" Solomon asked, removing his travelling cloak and lying down.

"Oh, the usual," she said. "Politics, favors, business, quotas and things like that. However, there are a few… other things I wished to hear about."

"Yes?"

"Your time on Woebus. I have gotten a fairly vague notion of what occurred, but I wanted to hear from you what happened. You were there, and you are a hero to the people of that world."

"Speaking of which, I have a few things to ask you, afterwards, if you don't mind."

"Such as?" she queried.

"I have refugees from Woebus, and I need to find them a new home."

She nodded. "Of course, but first, Woebus. Tell me everything."

As he began his story, Solomon could not help but notice just how rapt the woman's attention was. It was almost as if she were trying to keep track of everything he mentioned, and although he found it a tad odd, it actually felt… nice. She didn't ask any questions, she didn't interrupt, and even in the more awful parts, with the blood and mud and the dying of people all around him in an ork melee, she didn't so much as flinch. She was a tough one, he had to give her that.

By the time he had finished his stories, minus the part about what he had encountered back on the moon base, Delvidia's smile seemed awfully genuine. It was if she had enjoyed listening to him talk about events that for him had taken place mere weeks before, and yet, for everyone else, had occurred many months ago. Warp travel was weird like that.

"Tell me, Solomon, are you busy, by chance, during the Festum Messis?"

"Oh, uh, no, not really," he replied. "Weren't we going to discuss-,"

"We can discuss politics after the banquet."

"Now there's a banquet?"

"Solomon, the Festum Messis is a time-honored tradition of our world, and as such, I would think it very rude for you not to attend, as a most honored guest," Delvidia replied. "Among the most notable and ruling elite of the world, there is a gathering, where we feast on the most delicious of imported and locally-grown foods, as well as enjoy one another's company during a social gathering."

"So… it's like a party?"

"In a looser term, yes, one could call it that," she said. "I'd see it more as a gathering of the ruling elite. Now, seeing as you'd be a guest of honor, do you have something to wear?"

"Um… I'm not sure. I've gone through the former captain's closet and either sold or gave away stuff that wouldn't fit me. Would my armor be enough?"

She shook her head. "No no Solomon, that would simply not do. I shall have my finest tailors whip something up for you, though on such short notice, they will undoubtedly need to take your precise measurements."

"Okay, so, assuming I attend this party-,"

"Gathering."

"… gathering, with whatever your people can make for me on such short notice, what exactly would I do?"

"Oh, not very much," Delvidia said mysteriously. "Tell stories, explain your nature with our world and others, perhaps engage in idle chitchat. I would prefer you to remain in close proximity to myself, if possible."

"Why is that?"

"For your own protection." With that, and a snap of her fingers, a pair of doors opened and several servants strode in, which she motioned towards. "They will take you for your fitting."

"Protection from what?" Solomon asked, as he was half-guided, half-dragged off.

"Better you don't know," Delvidia replied with a knowing look.

* * *

"Nutrient paste, Subject 401138," a monotone voice said, before a tray covered in what looked like bright green applesauce slid into his cell.

"Subject? Don't you mean prisoner?" now-former captain Titus asked.

"Not today," the small Mechanicus Adept said, his face covered in more bolts than a Leman Russ tank. "Today you are simply Subject 401138."

"Today's flavor?" the large man asked, gesturing to his food tray.

"Green," the mechandrite-trailing man replied.

"Green isn't a flavor."

"It is if one has taken enough psychotropic drugs."

"Like the Fabricator-General does all the time?"

If he still possessed the ability to snort, the Adept would have. However, having long since replaced his vocal cords and nose with tubes and wires, what came out sounded like a terrifying example of a mechanical ork suffering from an epileptic seizure. "What the Fabricator-General does or does not do is of no concern to you, Subject 401138. Eat well, and I will collect your tray when I return." With that, pushing along a squeaky cart loaded with tubs of green paste, he set off towards the other cells.

Titus, former captain of the Ultramarines, and sitting in some Emperor-forsaken cell on some damned Inquisitorial-held prison world, sighed as he reached for his food. The fact that it hadn't killed him yet was surprising, even if the taste was eerily similar to a mixture of mud, sweat, and a hint of tree bark. Then again, it tasted better than some of the other stuff they served. Every so often, on a fairly rare occasion, he was given a steak or hunk of meat, and did NOT ask what it was made of, if only because he didn't want to know before he bit into it, lest he lose his appetite.

"Hey, did you hear?"

Titus looked up from his glorified food, seeing a pair of younger Adepts standing guard over an empty food cart. Likely the ones from before, who had served breakfast. Or had it been lunch? Time passed unevenly in his cell, where some days felt like weeks, and some months felt like a mere day.

"Yes, I did," the other replied. "The planet of Woebus, saved from the greenskin menace."

"Greenskins?" Titus muttered as he listened in on the conversation. He knew the foul stench of orks all too well, and had fought many in his lifetime. Another world they had invaded, yet had been repulsed. It was good news, as news that made it to this prison was rarely ever of the good kind, and even then, it could have simply been hearsay. Still, he listened, if only to alleviate some of his boredom.

"Ultramarines and Salamanders bravely led the defense to defeat them, but it was the fortunate arrival of an unknown variable that truly helped turn the tide," the first Adept said. Leaving out the deeds of the countless guardsmen who had likely died on the world was nothing new, seeing as most Adepts held little respect for those "living flashlights" that were better used as meat shields for their own troops. Or as rations, seeing as Adepts were not picky where their nutrients came from.

"Who? Another legion? More useless guardsmen?"

"No, it was a Rogue Trader, named Solomon I think. Came down on the planet and assisted with two evacuations, at a significant risk to himself and his crew."

A Rogue Trader? Titus knew of few Rogue Traders willing to help in a war against orks, seeing as their loyalty to the Imperium was often only as full as their coffers allowed. Inherently untrustworthy, the lot of them, independent and answering to few if any; it was something that did not sit well with many others in the Imperium. It did not strike him as strange that they would be involved in a war, usually as a means to profit handsomely. What he did find odd that the Trader in question had helped personally, as in had gone down to the planet and fought the orks.

"What happened? I have heard rumors, but some of them seem too outlandish to be true, even in this day and age."

"After the war finished, he left to parts unknown," the Adept said to the other. "Likely off to scrounge for whatever power or wealth he can come across. Strange, don't you think. For a Rogue Trader captain to just help out in a war? I heard he lost thousands of troops to the greenskins."

"Thousands? I hear it was ten thousand."

"Meh, somewhere in there. An unlikely and welcome ally, to be sure, but he's no tactical genius. The ork armies weren't even that big."

As the two prattled on about numbers and the validity of low-altitude sustained lancer battery fire, Titus sat in silence. This… Captain Solomon did not sound like the usual ilk that skirted the law and duties of the Imperium. The space marine knew of Woebus, he'd read about it as an important link world between several highly-influential sectors, but had never himself visited. For a Rogue Trader to go out of his way, show up, and assist with the war to keep the planet in the Imperium's fold… well, to Titus, it spoke volumes of the man's character.

"If I ever am released from this wretched place," he thought, finishing the last of his meal, "I will try and seek out this captain. I have nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. It would not hurt to seek answers from him, should he still live if I am ever free."

With that, he rolled onto his cell floor, and after pushing the empty tray back outside his cell, found his rock pillow and lay back to sleep.

* * *

"You have got to be kidding me. There's got to be over a hundred people here, dressed in clothes I can't even imagine the price of, and here I feel like I'm dressed for a funeral."

"What? I think it's very nice. It really shows off your figure and brings out the color in your eyes. That, and it goes well with that ornamental armor you scrounged up."

Solomon sighed. Sure, with what he was wearing, he cut a rather imposing and striking figure, but he would have preferred to not be so outlandishly eye-catching. "I'm not sure if I want people staring at my figure like some sort of provocative or gaudy statue. I'm a human, dammit, not a piece of art."

"Why would you think that? These clothes are very nice, and cover you more than well enough."

"Some parts are a bit more… snug than others, Governor Delvidia."

"Nonsense, the tailors assured me you would be comfortable. Come now, let us mingle."

The gathering of the rich and powerful on Mastuonus Primus, though likely nowhere near as gaudy or expensive as other, more-traveled worlds, was unlike anything Solomon had yet seen. Countless servants mingled with families whose ownership of the equivalent of entire countries likely stretched back thousands of years. Food and drink of all kinds was seemingly everywhere, and the banners, tapestries, suits, dresses and jewelry that covered every wall and guest must have been prohibitively expensive. Even for someone who had not yet managed to figure out just how much wealth he had, Solomon was sure some of these people could have rivaled him.

When a group of what he guessed to be minor nobility approached, he stopped and gave a curt bow, earning a few rather fake-sounding giggles. "Greetings," he said.

"Captain Solomon, I presume?" the eldest woman said, her features as sharp as someone half her age. Matronly, with a tightly-woven bun of black hair, and a body just beginning to show signs of sag. Still, the odd gray hair was the most obvious clue she was older than she appeared. "Madam Falmax, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She held out her hand. Solomon, following the advice Delvidia had given him after his fitting, gently took it and brushed her knuckles with his lips. "The pleasure is all mine," he said.

"These are my daughters, as well as a few of their friends from other houses," the woman replied, gesturing to several obviously younger women. "Have you, by chance, been able to partake in some of the delicacies prepared tonight? They are most assuredly delicious."

"I have, thank you." Solomon felt so out of place amongst these people whose entire lives likely were filled with constant ass-kissing, strict social boundaries and similar sycophantic manners. He wouldn't have been surprised if this woman was already sizing him as a potential future husband for one of her daughters. Word of his power and prestige had already begun to circulate after his first few visits, and now that he was more or less a war hero, some had likely taken a very keen interest in him. The looks some of the young women were giving him were… well, not outright frightening, but along the lines of hungry lions sizing up a potential meal.

"Would you care for a tour? I am sure one of my daughters would be delighted to show you around." A few giggled at that, but in sync, as if they had been practicing it.

"Oh, Madam Falmax, that is most gracious of you and your daughters, but I am afraid Captain Solomon is quite taken care of," Governor Delvidia replied, stepping between them. "As host, it is my duty to such a distinguished guest to guide and escort him, lest he be beset upon by those who would take advantage of him. He is not used to such gatherings."

"My word, I would never seek to do such a thing," the woman replied, though her frost-tinged tone suggested her plans were something along those exact lines. "I was merely being polite."

"I thank you for that, but really, it is of no concern," Delvidia said. "Come, Solomon, I wish to show you something."

Bewildered by this sudden exit, and the looks shared between the daughters and their mother, Solomon felt this would not be the last he saw or heard of them. "What was that about?" he asked, after the pair had walked a good ways away.

Delvidia picked up a pair of wine goblets that likely cost the equivalent of a man's yearly wage. "I should have warned you about her."

"Who, Madam Falmax?"

"Yes, her. I was able to tell most of the other nobles in attendance that you were to be left alone in the matter of politics and noble machinations. Madam Falmax, it would seem, did not remember my advice, or simply chose to ignore it," the governor replied, handing him a goblet. "It seems she even roped some of the youth from the houses of her allies into her schemes. Here I thought their parents knew better than that."

"Why would you do that?" Solomon asked, before taking a sip. Holy… was this stuff made from apples? So there _were_ still apples, or what counted as apples, in this grim, dark future! Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all. Perhaps he could ask a chef to make him a pie of out of whatever fruit made this wine?

"She is very ambitious, Solomon, and, no offense, but you are hopelessly outmatched in the arena of political subterfuge."

"I… well, I'm not terribly experienced, yes, but I wouldn't say _hopelessly_ outmatched."

After taking her own sip, the governor sighed. "Solomon, I just saved you from being more or less pressured into an arranged marriage with one of those young women."

Solomon blinked. "Uh… thanks, I guess?"

"You should be thankful, you have no idea what women like that have been raised to be like," Delvidia said. "Did you notice their father was not with them?"

"I did, is he here?"

"No, he is at home, I'd wager, henpecked into a corner by his overbearing wife. Madam Falmax is the kind of woman who would stop at nothing to grab more power and prestige for herself and her daughters. There was a rumor years ago that she was involved in the disappearance of her elder brother, so that she could assume the family fortune."

"What?"

"Hearsay, and he was terribly sick for most of his life, but the rumor still stands. She always gets what she wants, and if not immediately, she will do anything to get it, or make those suffer who denied her. I suppose you have been lucky you haven't been approached before now, but seeing as your new status as a war hero is the talk of many a social circle, I would advise you to be extremely cautious."

"On Mastuonus Primus?"

"On any planet with any sort of women in power. Oh, do be careful of men in power as well, but for different reasons. Some governors will try and get you to marry their daughters, or sign into an alliance with them. SOme might even try to have you wage war against their enemies if they feel they could get away with it. The freedom being a Rogue Trader provides also carries with it much risk and temptation. Power, fortune or fame being the most obvious of vices, you will be subjected to some of the worst machinations the Imperium likely has to offer."

"Why are you telling me this?" Solomon asked, sipping more of his delicious drink.

"I do not want to lose a valuable ally who can do great things for my world," Delvidia said softly. "That, and… I don't want to see you hurt. You're a different kind of person, Solomon, a different kind of man I'm not sure I've ever met before. Tell me, on Woebus, did you really lead the charge against orks?"

"Yes, I did, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Solomon, from the stories I've been told, rarely do generals lead from the front, especially if they are leading guardsmen. Generals will gladly lead if supported by Astartes, the angels of the Emperor but mere men? That takes a different kind of character, one I would hate to see wasted."

"Wasted? I don't plan on dying very soon, Your Grace, I have too much work ahead of me."

"Death is not of our own choosing," she replied. "It comes for us when it does, regardless of what we may wish. You are too valuable to simply be used and cast aside. I can see great things in your future, captain, and I would very much like to be a part of that."

Solomon was silent for a few moments. "Is this the governor talking, or simply Delvidia?"

"A bit of both, I think. So, will you take my advice? Will you be more careful?"

"I will try to be," he said, finishing his glass, and retrieving another from one of the servers darting through the crowds. "Delvidia, tell me, have you ever been on a date before?" He knew this was totally out of his comfort zone, but it seemed like the most logical thing to do. Get close to the governor, become an ally above all others, and get on her good side. That way, he'd be safer, and, if everything went right, so would she.

"A date?"

"Umm… from my world, a date is like an informal courtship. It's a means of maintaining and, in certain cases, strengthening a friendship between two members of the opposite sex. Usually, in that last part, anyway. Much of the date would simply consist of small talk, such as weather, our pasts, or in our cases, deals and negotiations of our alliance."

"So, you're asking me to date?"

"Would you like to go _out_ on one?"

"When?"

"What time this week works best for you?"

"In five days, when the festivals has begun to wind down, and I am not terribly swamped with cargo shipments and tithe quotas. Under my family's leadership, we have never missed a deadline or been unable to provide a full quota, and I would prefer it to remain that way. So, better later than now. Anyways, for such a… date, I would suggest we meet in my private dining quarters, so as to avoid more of Madam Falmax's ilk. I am afraid they would camp out wherever you stay on world with spies, so as to know your every movement. Said spies, however, dare not enter my own abode."

The thought of people spying on him was not the most comfortable, but Solomon did not mind it too much. He was most likely already being spied on by people he least suspected. "Good, I'll see you then. Now, let's get back to the party, I'm sure there are some normally-boring topics around here you can make interesting."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

 **A/N: well, another one down, and I have no idea just how long this story will be. That being said, it's nice to know that people actually like this story, and as such, I will continue to try and improve upon it. So, please, if you don't mind, leaving me a PM or a review would be greatly appreciated, be it on what you like, what you don't like, questions for the future or on the story itself, or even just a "great job, keep it up" kind of thing.**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Syngra asked in the hangar bay. "You have been a Rogue Trader for nearly a year now, yet have not made yourself as known as most might, and already you are courting a governor. Not a member of the Imperial Navy, not some guardsmen or even a common agri-world peasant, but a governor, and might I add, the very same governor you are both indebted and allied to?"

"It's not a courtship, it's just a date," Solomon replied as he looked over the final details. Today was a big day, for both his crew and for the planet of Mastuonus Primus.

"From what you told me, dating is very much like courtship."

"It can be, but in this case, it's more along the lines of private meetings with the benefits of dinner," he replied. "I haven't had a home-cooked meal since I woke up, seeing as whatever they served at that party wasn't what I'd call "good" food, just expensive. Besides, that is what I plan on this being, a chance to discuss business over some good food. I don't intend on letting anything getting out of hand."

"If you are sure of this, and if you trust the governor, I see no reason why to continue attempting to dissuade you," Syngra muttered. "Still, I would recommend caution of the highest degree, captain."

"Delvidia already told me the dangers presented by people of power in the Imperium," Solomon said. "She was particularly adamant about watching out for the women, including Falmax and the likes of her."

"Then you should watch out for the governor as well, as she too is a woman in power within the Imperium," the Adept reminded him. "She too could very well be taking advantage of you, or come across the idea to do so later down the road."

"Why do you say that?"

"Solomon, when it comes to a lot of things, you happen to be either experienced or very wise, but in many other things, you remain woefully misguided or inexperienced. You have a knack for fiddling with technology, but have no real drive to train or discipline troops as they should be. Your tactics are not very sound, though how you wish to bring your weapons to bear is strangely efficient. You care for your troops and civilians in your care, yet most of us barely know you at all."

"I'd like to keep some secrets, especially if I feel they might endanger myself, the crew, or those in my care," Solomon replied carefully.

"Then I would advise you to do the same with Delvidia. Should she begin to ask you personal questions, the likes of which you feel not even your loyal crew should know, then do not tell her. It is simply a manner of being able to determine her trustworthiness."

Solomon sighed. "Syngra, trust me, I know what I'm doing. By all means, thank you for the advice, but this… this is something I must do on my own."

The Adept simply nodded, her mechandrites absentmindedly fiddling with one of the shuttle's stabilizers. "Then, shall we depart?"

"Yes," he replied, before motioning to the rest of those gathered before him, as they would not leave until he did. "Set course for the northern hemisphere of the planet. We have a funeral to attend to."

* * *

The cold of the spare cargo bay, combined with the vacuum created by the venting of the atmosphere, meant that the bodies inside of those that had died on Woebus were perfectly preserved. However, that being said, Prollarius had told Solomon of the folly of not cremating the dead, as ork spores could very well be within the corpses, waiting or already beginning to germinate. They had been lucky none of the refugees had carried with them ork spores, and that so far any traces of them had been gone.

So, with a heavy heart, Solomon knew that the men and women who had died under his care could not be buried as they were. With flamers and a quick mixture of napalm, the entire cargo bay was cleansed in fire after more atmosphere had been pumped into it, so much so that no ork spore could have survived the inferno.

When all was said and done, and the whole area re-burned just in case, all ashes of the fallen were gathered into great crates aboard the shuttles. With the uninjured survivors acting as the honor guard, Solomon descended upon the northern taiga and tundra of Mastuonus Primus.

There was not another single living soul for hundreds of miles. There was no point for the citizens of the world to try and farm this far north, and thus, it was completely quiet, with only the occasional bird to break the silence. In solitude from all else, surrounded by the occasional tree and grassy hill, the honor guard gathered, the crates containing the ashes of their fallen aligned with each regiment. None knew just how many had died, but the overall count, including those who had later died from their wounds, had amounted to around ten thousand total. For a force that had started off from Woebus with forty five thousand, losing nearly a quarter of your troops was not a good start.

Or, to Solomon, it wasn't. To anyone else, it seemed, it was an unfortunate start, but one that had ended in victory nonetheless. The troops overall were far more understanding and even willing to put up with these kinds of casualties, as fighting against the enemies of man was often an affair that measured death tolls in the millions or even billions.

"Men and women of the Imperium of Man!" Solomon called out from atop a small crate, his vox broadcasting far louder than normal. "Our braves comrades fell on the planet of Woebus, giving their lives for humanity and the for the glory of the Emperor! May their sacrifice always be remembered, and may we, the survivors, honor their sacrifice. Here, on their home world, we spread their ashes, so that they may rest. They have truly earned it."

With Solomon beginning first, the troops as one began to shovel the ashen remains out onto the ground with their entrenching tools, where others began to spread them out in neat rows, stretching for many, many yards in every direction. All were quiet as this continued: no word of comfort, no word of thanks or acknowledgement, only a humble silence to honor their fellows who had fallen in the line of duty. Many knew that they too, someday, maybe tomorrow or maybe twenty years from now, would meet the same fate. Yet, if it bothered them, they made no notion to indicate as such.

They had lived through the initiation, the maelstrom that had consumed so many of their fellows. They were now survivors, warriors proud and true, ready to fight and die totally for the Emperor and the Imperium. Their loyalty had grown out of resentment, and their eagerness had been tempered by experience and war. Their captain, too, was changed, from when they had sent out from this world for another. The fact that he was here, among them, personally spreading the ashes of those he had once commanded, meant more to them than all the medals, commendations, and money in the galaxy.

In time, they too would face death, but with their captain at their side, that did not worry them as much. The Emperor protects his children, and thus, dying for him was the greatest honor any of them could hope to achieve.

* * *

History is written by the victor, though in the grim darkness of the future, it was more likely the survivor that writes the history. Then, that history is often "corrected" through heavy-handed measures within the Adeptus Administratum, as well as through the hands of the Ecchlesiarchy and the Inquisition. Seeing as those last two were now either in complete upheaval or turmoil, following a certain declaration that no spam-box filter could block, only the utter bureaucracy of the Administratum remained to slow all manner of work, news and progress to a complete and grinding halt.

Billions upon billions of scribes worked across countless planets, filing paperwork and transcribing data as best they could. Entire worlds were used to grow forests, simply so that they could be harvested, pulped, and pounded down into paper for the scribes and clerical workers. Countless other worlds were simply massive warehouses, designed to function as filing cabinets to fit all of this documentation. There were even rumors that there were secret worlds containing significant, ancient or forbidden knowledge, though it was also rumored more of these had been lost to clerical errors than to the enemies of mankind. It wouldn't have been the first time either.

Deep within the dry and dusty halls of Paypyrkut Primus, a lone scribe sat at his little cubicle, carefully making duplicates of countless documents stacked high before him. Knowing full well that staying late to finish a quota meant he could become lost in the miles upon miles of corridors, like others before him, the small man worked as hard as he could at what he was given. He had known some scribes to go mad and become lost in the labyrinthine corridors, starving or committing suicide by paper cuts to the throat before anyone could find them.

One document came to his attention as he finished with duplicating the marriage license treaty for the women of Crenon. "Passage of title, Rogue Trader Ordacius, to Solomon," he read. Funny, none of the other forms on Ordacius that he had recently gone through mentioned any kin named "Solomon". In fact, judging from this paper, he was certain this "Solomon" had not paid his due to the title, nor had properly inherited said because of this. Having memorized every single rule in the library of his order, he knew exactly that such an oversight was liable to be paid in the Rogue Trader's ship and title.

Just as he reached for his stamp to declare this document forfeit, and pass it off for someone to pass off to authorities within the Adeptus Administratum to deal with, he sneezed from the accumulation of dust atop him. With a groan the stacks of paper in front of him, long-since precariously perched by uncaring servitors, came tumbling down on the man. With a muffled shriek, he was buried by countless forms and paperwork, the weight of them crushing him in a matter of seconds.

The paper he had held floated to the cubicle next to his own, the resident not looking up from his rapid stamping of forms, having long ago replaced his aching, frail arm with a mechanical one that could do the job tirelessly. The man, named Dunflin, just wanted to get home that day after exceeding his quota, just to stick it to that asshole Dweut a few rows down, so when the form floated down in front of him, he simply stamped it as "accepted" and passed it on. He wasn't paid shit for accuracy, what meager compensation he received was for total papers approved. Behind him, several servitors came by and began to retrieve the papers from atop the now-dead scribe, intent on filing them to his replacement as soon as possible.

* * *

"Well, how do I look?"

Syngra was not entirely sure how to respond to that question. She had always thought the captain looked fairly nice, though some of that might have been his willingness to adorn himself with functional yet removable pieces of tech, like his wrist-mounted chronometer and miniature vox broadcaster. The suit was finely made, though likely similar to the one he had worn to the party he had been a part of. There was no armor, no visible sidearm, and for once, he'd combed his mop of hair into some semblance of order.

"Functional," she replied.

"Functional?"

"I do not see why the governor would be averse to continuing your courtships if you show up as you appear."

"Dammit Syngra, I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, a date isn't always about that!"

"You have told me precisely one hundred thirty eight times."

Solomon blinked. Did… did she just make a _joke_? He hadn't heard one little quip like that out of her during their time together, despite all the opportunities for it. Here he'd just thought she was simply being loyal, but apparently she thought this too good of an opportunity to pass up. After all, he knew he looked good, but seeing as he couldn't ask Prollarius, as he had no experience with nobility like this, or ask Pontius, as the man didn't even have eyeballs, it fell to Syngra to be his choice. Right now, though… he wasn't sure that decision had been the right one.

"Captain, I must say that despite your inherent need to ask the opinion of others, you've done quite well for yourself," the Adept continued. "The suit is very nice, and I am sure the governor will be very pleased to your state of dress. However, looks are one thing, and what you will discuss with her will be another. So, take this."

What is it?" he asked, accepting a small box from one of the techpriestess's mechandrites.

"It is a recording device, so that we can go over what you two speak of in order to see if she is truly trying to ensnare you for some unknown reason."

"You want to eavesdrop on my date?" Solomon asked as he pocketed the device. "Syngra, I didn't know you cared so much."

"I do care, as does Prollarius and the other officers," she replied. "It was his idea anyway. Better to keep an eye on your supposed friends rather than blindly trust them."

Well, he'd have to at least keep that in mind with his crew, if things ever began taking a turn for the worse. "Is everyone in this galaxy as cynical as you?"

"No, I am far more trusting than most. I faithfully and wholly followed you into mutual tech heresy, have I not?"

"Syngra, there's no need to feel bad about that. Coming up with newer and better technology to make humanity safer and improve our way of living is nothing to be ashamed of." He paused for a moment. "Any more than eavesdropping on your captain's first date, anyways."

"Prollarius hoped you would not be too upset. On top of determining what was discussed, as well as listening out for anything unusual, the officers on board the ship currently have a betting pool as to the outcome of your first date." She paused. "I believe Prollarius has bet you will kiss her."

Solomon arched an eyebrow. That sneaky son of a… "…does this device record anything other than audio?"

"With the recording device implanted, it is capable of reconstructing a three dimensional scene in a two dimensional setting."

"Syngra…"

"Yes, it can record video as well, though it can reconstruct the majority of a scene merely by the ambient sounds detected by the device's auditory receptors."

"How much is being wagered on this first date?"

"A bit, though some of the officers are betting on more… salacious outcomes."

Well… that was unexpected. "What about you, Syngra? Are you in on this, or just a messenger?"

"It would be very unscrupulous of me to be the one who keeps track and tallies all wagers, as well as the one to give you the device that would determine what exactly happens," she said. "However… it would be very good for a certain someone if you were to, at the greatest extent, refrain from exchanging bodily fluids of any kind. Simply holding hands can be very rewarding."

Despite this news that his personal life now was attached to some kind of no-longer secret gambling ring amongst his officers, Solomon smiled. "It would also be good for another someone to get in on that bet, but in secret, and thus split the winnings fairly."

Syngra's mechandrites suddenly stilled their ceaseless motioning, as if in shock. "How… how much would this person like?" Her expression betrayed the realization that she may have pushed her luck too far.

"Oh, only around twenty percent, I don't need all that much," the captain said with a grin as he made towards his shuttle. "Thank you, Syngra, I will heed your warning."

As the shuttle left the hangar, the Adept let out a sigh of relief. There was a lot of money riding on this, but now she had an ace in the hole. Solomon liked her, a lot more than he did his other officers, perhaps because the two of them got along so well and confided in one another readily. Still, more money could be made if she could bring some more reluctant officers into the betting pool.

She wouldn't ask Pontius to bet, though. Psykers could, under certain circumstances, predict the future. Though… asking him now, before anything happened, couldn't hurt…

* * *

On the surface of Holy Terra, two Terran PDF troopers stood idly by in their barracks. They had heard nothing of what had happened many months before, of what they helped to find deep within Terra's most holy bowels. Then again, their duty was to protect and help police Terra, not ask too many questions.

"Hey, Nothingus?" one asked.

"Yeah?" the other replied.

"You think we're somehow important in the grand scheme of things?"

"In all honesty, I doubt it."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

So they went on with their lives.

* * *

The crisp air of evening greeted Solomon as he was escorted by the governor's honor guard through the palace gardens. Many of the servants he had formerly seen hustling and bustling about were out of sight, likely on orders to be seen as little as possible. Then again, if they weren't around, there would be much less gossip, and thus much less information for others to pay for. He had no doubt that at least a few were reporting to other houses of nobility, including that Madam Falmax.

The fact that society was filled with people like her, those who would do anything to gain power for themselves of for their children, frankly, sickened him. He knew such politics were nothing new, not even in his time, but… surely people would learned by now that this kind of society never held together for very long, right? Eventually, the mandate that they have over the ruling classes is challenged or outright removed, and soon enough, they are replaced by those with the backing of the common folk, or someone within the military, or some spiritual leader, or even those with enough money to secure themselves in the same sort of cycle. He could remember it had happened plenty of times from his own history, and even before that.

Wow, people never really did learn from history, and were always doomed to repeat it, huh?

"Figures," he muttered, as the honor guard led him to a door he hadn't noticed in his previous meetings with the governor. Opening it, and stepping inside, Solomon found himself alone. The room, while likely very rich, was also… fairly sparse, though if it wasn't a well-used room, there'd be little use in stuffing it with things to show off. The few decorations that lined the walls seemed historical in nature, likely artifacts of Delvidia's family line. There was an old lasgun, highly battle-damaged and likely no longer functioning, a banner of an Imperial Guard regiment likely long since eradicated in some forgotten war on some distant planet, and here and there hung what likely counted as personal portraits and paintings in this day and age. From the positioning, they all clearly had some significance, but exactly what, Solomon didn't know. He'd have to ask some time.

Quietly standing by himself at the only table in the room, he did not have to wait long for the governor to arrive. News of his own arrival must have been passed on fairly quickly.

She was… well, the fact that she wore less jewelry and far less makeup, yet was somehow even more stunning than during the great banquet days before, was truly something to behold. Her red hair was matched by an even redder dress, which hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating every curve just right. Not very low cut, but that was fine, as the small pendant she wore was likely her family's crest, and the slits along the side of the dress were visible even from where he sat. Her hair was done fairly simply, akin to some sort of bun, and as the jeweled pins holding it together shimmered in the low light, he had a feeling she'd spent a long time in front of a mirror getting ready. Though, he wouldn't have exactly called it a bun, as several trails of silken hair fell from the very back of it.

Her smile, however, seemed to light up the whole room, a genuine one that seemed to reach right to her green eyes, and in the back of his mind, Solomon swore he could have heard an appreciative whistle. Was Adam watching him now? "Good evening, Miss Warmak," he said, giving a small bow.

"Good evening, Solomon," she said, offering him her hand. "You look very nice tonight."

He gently kissed it. "I would say the same thing about you, but then I might not be doing such a compliment justice." He didn't know where all of this bravado and courage came from, but then again, from what he could remember he had been a very shy man in his previous life. Now, though, in this future, he couldn't afford to be shy, and so far, things had been going well for him in being such.

That, or Adam was subtly doing something to him. Or was it Eve?

"That is very kind of you," Delvidia replied. "But please, tonight, just "Delvidia" is fine. Madam Warmak is my mother, and right now, I do believe this date is between us, not you and her."

"No, of course," Solomon muttered, gently helping her to her seat before taking his own. In an instant, three servants sprang out of a nearby potted plant, placed two golden goblets on the table, and poured the two of them some fine wine before seemingly vanishing into midair.

Solomon blinked. That had taken all of ten seconds. Man, these guys were good. "So, do we have a menu tonight, Delvidia?"

"Well, for tonight, my kitchens have told me we are having steamed Crenonian rootcorn, a side of Wharan fruitshoots, and a special dish, Mastuonus Tertius wild harriva."

"What's a harriva?"

"It is similar to a hoofed mammal, only native to Mastuonus Tertius, and very hard to harvest. It lives in forests of the far north, in both insect-ridden summers and bitter winter cold, and as such is very hardy. The hard part is not killing one, which can be a challenge, but protecting your kill from the five types of carnivores that will swarm the kill the minute they hear its death cry."

"Does anyone else eat them other than nobility?"

"Most nobility actually do not," Delvidia said simply. "It was introduced to my family when my ancestors came to this world, as they picked up a few bodyguards there to protect them from this world's then-nobility. Suffice to say, some of the traditions intermingled, and I grew up eating it. On our world, the wild animals of the far north are often too few or too difficult for the common man to hunt, and why hunt when you have readily-available food to raise or buy yourself?"

"Hunting can be good," Solomon said.

"Yes, it can be, but the prey you hunt can vary greatly," she replied. "Anyways, the harriva has been slow cooking for almost one full day now, so it should be tender."

"Does it really take that long to cook it?"

"Only if you want to make sure it is very succulent. It has a tendency to be "dry" to those who have not tried it before, so cooking it low and slow is the best means to do it for "newcomers" such as yourself," Delvidia replied, taking a sip of her wine.

Solomon was pleasantly surprised that the wine was the same from the party. "So, Delvidia, what do you wish to discuss before our dinner arrives?"

"Oh, some things here or there," she said. "Tell me, Solomon, how goes your time as a Rogue Trader? Is it all I've heard it to be?"

"Oh, not too bad, if you could call fighting against orks and helping to relocate refugees not "too" bad," he said. "Speaking of which, are there by chance any communities willing to take them in? I have several thousand who don't seem to want to settle down on the base I'm building on Talmanjir, and most of the planets within a large area don't seem like the right kind to just drop them off on."

"I will have to look, but if arriving in different groups, I am sure I could fit them in nicely," Delvidia said. "They would, of course, have to go through the immunization and naturalization process. Do they speak Low Gothic?"

"Yes, they speak it just as well as any of us," he said. "By the way, thanks for understanding me speaking that as well. I'm not terribly good at High Gothic, despite all of the codices I've read. Are you, by chance, fluent in it?"

"Certainly, most nobility are fluent in High Gothic, though we more use it for business or to discuss private matters. I could help you learn to speak it fluently, should you consistently stay in the system long enough for lessons. Using it in public on certain worlds, from what I have heard, can be… problematic."

"Problematic as in, the nobility are not liked by the common folk?"

"Very much so, yes," she said. "The personal defense forces of worlds are as often used to defend the world against invaders as they are the nobility against the populace. We on Mastuonus and nearby worlds have been fairly lucky so far, being so remote in the Imperium. Those closer to the front lines of war, or to the corrupting influence of traitors and heretics, are not so fortunate."

"Traitors and heretics, eh? Can't say I've met many of those," Solomon said, taking another sip of his wine. "I mean, some traitor space marines stormed my ship before I became captain, but other than that… I've only fought orks." That daemonette back on Talmanjir, summoned by those cultists… he wanted to forget that. It's haunting beauty and utter savagery still twisted and twirled in his dreams, and likely would for a long time.

"But let us not talk war," Delvidia said simply. "There is time for that elsewhere, not tonight. What about you? For being in an alliance, I'm afraid I don't know much about you at all."

"Nor I about you," he replied. "What say a trade? You or I ask a question, and we both answer if possible. If one wishes to know more, they ask as much."

"Sure, I'll go first. Favorite color? Mine is scarlet, but if my dress is anything to go by, you probably knew that."

"I personally like aquamarine. Okay, my turn. What is the longest time you've ever been away from home?"

"Two months, when I was younger. It was a retreat to the more northern estates, to try and learn to live in semi-hardship, to toughen us up for life in politics. I'll admit, it wasn't terribly fun, nor was it easy, but I do appreciate my mother sending me there when she did. Yourself?"

"Well, seeing as my ship is more or less my home, I'd say a few weeks at the most, though I suppose that will eventually change. I have no idea just how long future fights I'm in could take."

"Okay then, biggest mistake you've made? Outside of, say, war?"

"Oh, where do I begin? I'd say rushing in with transporting a bunch of hivers to my moon base to help build it up. Let's say some were… troublesome, to put it lightly. What about you?"

"There was this big scuffle between two noble families a few years ago over inheritance of some northern fields," Delvidia said. "I wasn't governor for very long at the time, so I thought I could simply order them to behave. By the Emperor, I was wrong. The two waged this secret war for over five years before I caught wind of it. In the end, let's just say that inheritance isn't something those two need to worry about."

"Why is that?"

"They eke out a living on Mastuonus Tertius now amongst the tribes there. I confiscated their titles, citizenship and wealth, and then unceremoniously deported them."

"Seems a little… harsh."

"Judging from the effects of their shadow war, I'd say they got off lightly, what with the damage they caused," the governor said as a door opened. With a pair of trays laden with food, two servants quickly set them in front of the pair, and slipped away as silently as they had arrived.

"Wow, this looks delicious," Solomon said, simply salivating as the scent of the food entered his nose. Even in the officer's mess, he'd been eating either formerly-frozen meat paste or a bunch of ration cubes that had the texture of really shitty granola.

"It really is," Delvidia said, as she took a small bite of what looked like a vegetable. "Now then, did you have any siblings?"

"Two sisters. Yourself?" He could not yet remember their names, but at least he had their faces in his dreams, along with countless others. Just… why could he only remember their faces, not any of their names? Day by day, week by week, memories and knowledge returned to him, but the names remained elusive.

"I am an only child, or at least, the only one to survive to adulthood. My younger brother died from complications related to a surgery on one of his organs, and my sister died from complications at birth."

"I am sorry to hear that." Wow, this… what was it called again? Rootcorn? It went really good with the harriva meat. He'd been meaning to get the aquaponic gardens and terrariums back up and running in the _Terra's Scion_ again, but more pressing matters had meant fixing them up was now "non-essential", as his quartermasters had put it. That, and they had been converted to some weird storage area, filled with crap from Ordacius that nobody knew the purpose of.

"It is fine, I was very young when it happened, and truly too young to really understand it. Now, though… perhaps my life would have been different with siblings. It certainly would have been more exciting."

"Perhaps, but then again, it's out of our hands. Luck, destiny, the will of the Emperor, whatever you want to call it, there's pretty little we can do about any of it." Solomon paused, enjoying the texture of his meal. "Say, now, how has the harvest and production been with those vehicles?"

"Oh, the newer ones? Very well, we haven't had a harvest this good in years," she replied between sips of her wine. "Come to think of it, my aides had told me this year might have been completely ordinary, yet those machines of yours greatly increased productivity. Though, I must admit, some of the more… physical laborers were not too happy at first."

"Fear of being replaced by the machines that are more efficient than them?" Wow, if memory served that same thing would likely be the case with the weapons on his ship, once he switched them from pulley systems to mechanical loaders and targeting systems.

Seriously, goddamn ropes and pulleys? This was supposed to be the future, not some ridiculous medieval caricature with lasers.

"Precisely. Thankfully, I needed people to work the machines themselves, so they were trained in that. Plus, now they not only have their original job, to a degree, but are overall healthier for it. Now, what about you? What of your new machines?"

"Well, I'm still trying to figure them all out. The problems with power output, traction and firepower are the biggest concerns with my ground vehicles, and I haven't really found a solution to them yet. Also, my attack craft have good pilots, but we've yet to use them against real enemies." He paused to sip his own wine. "I don't look forward to fighting too soon, I need to recuperate or I'll run out of troops."

"Seems like a good plan, though some in the Imperium might see you as overly cautious."

"Better to be overly cautious and a threat to the enemy rather than overly dead and having accomplished nothing of note." Solomon knew that Delvidia had an inkling as to the origins of his technical achievements, but felt now was not a good time to discuss that. "So, Delvidia, have you ever been off of Mastuonus Primus before?"

"No, I have never left my homeworld. All business with the Imperium and other worlds has been done within my palace, and anything on this world can be done within a short distance of it as well. We're not a very populous world, and as such, news can travel to all very quickly. What of you? How many worlds have you been to?"

"Well, not including my home and my moon base, I'd say two so far," Solomon said. "I've been in orbit around a few others, but never set foot on them. By the way, my compliments to the chef, just so I don't forget."

"I will let him know, thank you. Okay, next question: have you, Solomon, ever been in a relationship before?" Delvidia asked, leaning forward, the cut of her dress suddenly far more revealing than before. The swell of her breasts was somehow larger than before, but then again, he had forced himself to not pay attention to… them.

His suit suddenly felt ten degrees warmer, and it wasn't from the heat of his food making him hot. "Um… no, no, I can't say I haven't," he muttered, resting an arm on the table. "I don't see it as fair to be in a relationship with someone on board my ship, especially an officer. She could be used against me in a mutiny, and besides, it's rather unprofessional to date within the ranks. I wouldn't want to be accused of favoritism if I promoted her above someone else, or kept her from doing certain tasks. Some "accident" could befall her, and I'd end up making too many enemies trying to find out who did it."

"So, you're into women?"

"Yes, of course. Did I send some mixed signals to anyone?" He hadn't felt any inkling from the crew that they were attracted to him, but then again, he hadn't been looking.

"Oh, no, just wondering. You're a bit of a recluse, captain, but then again I understand most captains usually are. It's a lonely life at the top."

"Well, along with that, why be in a relationship with someone on a world I rarely visit? Even if I did visit as often as possible, because of warp time, I might not see them for weeks or months on end, while for me it's been only hours or days. That is one serious disconnect between our lives. Besides, I'd worry about them all the time, and I don't think I can afford to worry if I have to be in charge of an army fighting against the enemies of man. How is that in any way fair to them or my troops?"

"I agree, it wouldn't be ideal," Delvidia said, her fingers nimbly intertwining with his resting ones. "However, there are those that would likely be willing to make such accommodations. Some might even be willing to travel with you, should their old life be no longer available."

"Um… there are? I was told many captains will take mistresses with them on their ships, especially for longer voyages, and that most people in power tend to be so unless they die or are relieved by someone else."

"Are you such a man, Solomon? Would you take a mistress, or be willing to be replaced?"

"Well, no, it'd go against my nature. I have too much to do to focus on a lot of smaller things like that. Besides, biologically speaking, having as many children passing on your genes is the best way to live in this day and age, what with all the wars being fough gobbling up the Imperium's citizens left and right, but… what's the point?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why have as many children as you can if you don't pass on more than your genes? Your ideas, your ideals, your ethos, the memory of yourself… that matters more to me than any amount of children I could have. So long as any I have live to have more, and carry on a legacy, a memory of me, then that's fine by me."

"That's… odd."

"Odd?"

"Well, yes, odd, but I wouldn't say the bad kind of odd," the governor said, leaning a bit closer. Almost against his will, Solomon did as well. "More like the… different kind of odd."

"Is… is our alliance odd?" Damn, he told himself he'd keep this date professional, and now loot what was happening. Seriously, were Adam or Eve doing something to him?

"Yes, but the good kind. Just like you, Solomon. You're an odd one, but… I must say, I like that in you. Your difference makes you all the more charming."

Her green eyes glimmered in the light, her ruby red lips getting closer and closer, outshone only by her gorgeous hair. Solomon was tempted to close his eyes, but did not want to miss this-,

Suddenly, and without warning the pair were thrown to the floor by a massive rumble that seemed to reverberate through the entire palace, and soon afterwards, another followed it, this like that of an explosion. High above, part of the ceiling literally vaporized into nothing, ashen remains of solid marble flittering down, and above in the sky, small ships of dark and foreign design flew overhead, spewing countless streams of energy against a backdrop of the rays of a setting sun. If not for the fact that it would have been strangely beautiful, it was outright terrifying.

Mastuonus Primus was under attack, and his date had been suddenly and most unwelcomingly ended. His food was now covered in dust and debris, his wine spilled over the floor, his date may have been injured, and with a sneaking suspicion he would _not_ be getting some highly-anticipated dessert anytime soon, Solomon could only think of one thing to say.

"Son of a bitch!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

The entire building shook as, off in the distance, a bright light flashing in the distance. "Milady, we are receiving reports from all over the planet! We are under siege!" a servant cried out, running into the room, using a serving platter as an overhead shield as small bits of the ceiling fell around them.

"By what?" she cried out as Solomon helped her to her feet, using his own body as a shield.

"We have no idea!" Another light flashed in the distance, followed shortly by a loud rumble that seemed to come from the very ground itself.

"Captain Solomon, what should we do? You have experience with this kind of thing," Delvidia said.

No he didn't, he only knew how to deal with invading a world already besieged by orks. Still, that in and of itself was experience of some kind, so he thought as quickly as he could on what to do. "Well, first things first, you're the governor, and we need to get you to a safe place," he said, looking around. Damn, the _one_ day he'd decided to simply carry hidden sidearms, and not his trusty sword and lasgun, both of which were still on the shuttle. Thankfully, what he did have were of Syngra's unique design, so they weren't your everyday weapons. His two bolter pistols, much smaller than others, could be attached together to form something akin to a bolter shotgun.

He'd have to talk to her about developing a bolter rifle that didn't need three guardsmen to operate it.

"Where's a safe place?" she asked as they left the room, just as the rest of the ceiling completely collapsed. "My mansion should be safe enough."

"Well, it could be targeted, being a large and eye-catching landmark. No, my ship can take us up to the _Terra's Scion_ , though we'll need a lot of covering fire," Solomon replied, as he activated his miniature vox. "Syngra, come in, this is Solomon, do you read?"

"I read you loud and clear sir, what is happening down there?" the Adept's voice asked, loud and clear on the other end. "We are detecting explosions and distress calls in large numbers."

"The city, maybe even the whole planet, is under attack by some unknown hostile force," he replied, just as the three exited the building amidst a throng of scurrying servants. "I'm going to need the attack craft scrambled with all haste, and sent towards my position."

Off in the distance, toward a large landing pad, a trio of the strange craft strafed a group of people hiding out near his shuttle; the resulting explosion created a shockwave strong enough to send them stumbling.

"I'm also going to need a new shuttle. Mine just blew up." Damn, his sword and lasgun had been on that.

"Sir, what of our troops? We only have around eighteen thousand combat-ready right now, after we scramble all attack craft." Too many were still recuperating from the fight for Woebus, and many of the combat-ready were the former garrison troops from the moon base, rookies at best.

"Send them in after the attack craft towards the capital city, I don't want them shot out of the sky before they can land. We're going to set up a defensive perimeter around the governor's mansion and spread out from there, reclaiming and securing whatever and whoever we can."

Off in the distance, many old defense towers rumbled to life, the gun batteries turning to fire at the nimble enemy aircraft. Bright lances of light streaked out in massive clusters, alongside warms of missiles, though for the moment it seemed the towers were, at best, just driving the fighters away from the immediate area. Several lances would strike some of the craft, but they simply shimmered and shrugged off the blasts with frightening ease. All around the capital city, from Solomon's vantage point, people were milling about, screaming and trying to hide while looking for friends and family as explosions rocked buildings and streets in equal measure.

It was complete and utter pandemonium.

There was a shout from amidst a crowd of scattering people as another strafe run by the enemy craft caused large craters in the ground around the civilians. Emerging from the throng of civilians, the pilot of Solomon's shuttle rushed up to him, bleeding profusely from one arm.

"Captain Solomon, I barely made it out of there," he said, huffing and puffing as the enemy aircraft flew by overhead. At his side was Solomon's sword, which he quickly handed to him. "When the attack started, I got out of there as quick as I could and took some shrapnel from the shuttle when it blew. I'm sorry I wasn't able to retrieve your lasgun as well. What do we do, I had no idea-,"

With a bright lance of light from one of the xeno ships high above striking down at them, the man was shredded apart in front of the pair, a spray of blood coating Solomon and Delvidia as they were sent flying backwards onto the platter-wielding servant, the captain's sword spiraling through the air before embedding itself into a statue's chest.

Delvidia began to whimper and gasp, almost as if she were choking back on a scream, and as he rolled off of her and the servant, Solomon spit out some of his former pilot's blood. "Damn," he muttered, wiping it from his eyes as Delvidia freaked out beside him. "Poor Expendibus, never knew what hit him. Delvidia, what's the most secure part of your mansion?"

"T-t-the guard barracks b-b-b-behind the g-g-gardens," she said, before suddenly vomiting onto the pavement below them. "It's at the b-b-base of an old m-m-missile defense tower."

"Then that is where we will go," Solomon said, patching through his vox again as he wrenched his sword from the statue, sending pieces of it flying. "Syngra, did you get that?"

"Yes sir, the attack craft are on their way towards the capital city. ETA, several minutes, we're scrambling them as fast as we can."

* * *

"Pilots, battle stations!" the internal vox systems of the _Terra's Scion_ rang out, as hundreds upon hundreds of men and women scrambled towards the hangars. "All munitions are loaded up, this is not a drill, repeat, not a drill!"

Kej Piggins hustled his way towards his attack craft, his loaders trying to finish preparations as fast as they could. The armaments were nowhere near the amount nor payload of those aboard a normal attack craft, but unlike the original, these newer designs were far faster and far, far more maneuverable. That, of course, meant that instead of firing everything he could at the enemy because older models could just carry so much more, he and other pilots would have to conserve the larger ordinance for targets of opportunity, and more surgical strikes.

At least, that was how Captain Solomon had explained it to them all. His more eloquent speech had talked about "scalpels versus sledgehammers" and "strategic disabling" and "precision, teamwork, and brains", though that last one may have simply been a rehash of earlier speeches.

"She all set?" the pilot asked the accompanying technicians.

The quartermasters, acting much like an Adept but without the affiliations of the order or the complete cybernetic workover, nodded as they slid the last rack of missiles into place. "She's all set," one of them said, just as a dozen others rose into the air of the hangar. "Better get going, heard there's a fight down there."

"Good, time to get in some real practice," Kej said, climbing up into the cockpit. "See you blokes later."

Flipping the appropriate switches, and settling his helmet over his face, Kej felt his attack craft slowly rise into the air, and with a sudden push of his throttle, the pilot felt his body lurch backwards into his seat with the sudden acceleration. Flying out of the hangar, past the energy field keeping the air within, he flew out into the uppermost atmosphere of Mastuonus Primus, amidst a cloud of other attack craft. As he flew around, meeting up with several others to form an attack wing, he watched as more and more attack craft exited the hangars of the _Terra's Scion_.

"This is Red Leader, standing by," the forefront pilot of their wing group called forth on his vox. "Leaders, sound off."

"Gold Leader, standing by."

"Blue Leader, standing by,"

"Green Leader, standing by."

"Jacinth Leader, standing by."

"Jacinth? You mean orange?"

"Hey, it's registered as Jacinthe, get off my back."

"Whatever floats your boat, Fabulus," Red Leader replied, to several chuckles over the vox. "All wings, we're going in, target the xenos fighters with extreme prejudice. If we don't keep them busy, our troops won't make it to the ground."

With many confirmations from other groups, the attack craft began their descent into the lower atmosphere of the planet, their forms blotting out a good portion of the sky. Farther behind them, a good number of battle shuttles and assault craft were just beginning to spew out of the Terra's Scion, waiting for the signal to converge towards the capital city.

As they broke through the cloud layers, and the ground grew larger in their cockpits, Kej Piggins felt his heart sink slightly. All below them, countless craft darted this way and that, the alien forms and technology either taking blasts from defense towers that would have reduced Imperium fighters to molten slag, or outright dodging them. These xeno craft were far more nimble then their own, even with the enhanced designs of their captain, and the firepower was leagues out of their own. Yet, he felt confident, for they had the numbers by a wide margin.

"All craft, converge on targets, now!" Red Leader called out, and as they dove into the maelstrom of xenos craft and thundering rounds of defense towers, Kej felt as if all hell had broken loose.

Turning sharply, following after one xenos craft, and flanked by several cohorts, Kej pressed down on the trigger, and watched as round after round from his lascannon poured out at the enemy craft…

…only to watch the shields of craft harmlessly dissipate the energy. Then, in a flash, it dove straight downwards, and though their craft managed to turn only slightly less sharply, Kej swore he felt his blood begin to pool, for a moment, in other parts of his body. He shook it off and fired again, the other craft joining in. The shields of the enemy craft merely reflected or even absorbed the shots, and then, screeching out from amidst a cluster of their own fighters, another xenos fighter fired a salvo of missiles and strange beams of energy.

Kej felt the explosions all around him as the attack craft flanking him exploded in showers of light and heat. Still, he maintained his path, several other friendly attack craft joining him to replace those that had gone. All around him, clusters of attack craft would converge on an enemy fighter, only to be torn apart by another xenos craft. Yet, the numbers were on their side, though how long that would last remained to be seen.

"He's on my six!" a voice cried out, and then, just as he look up, Kej watched a friendly be eviscerated by another xenos craft's energy weapons, not so much exploding as simply falling in several, cleanly-cut pieces.

One of those pieces nicked a passing enemy fighter, veering it off course and directly into his own path. He was going too fast, and so were they. The last thing Kej Piggins saw, even as he held down the trigger and his craft collided with the enemy one, was a shocked alien face looking back at him.

Far above, Red Leader saw a friendly craft collide with one of the enemy fighters in a bright ball of flame. The smoke cleared as the enemy craft continued to sail through, though not without some difficulty. Part of one of its razor-like wings was damaged, and smoke spewed from several points. Yet, it still fought on, firing a salvo of missiles directly into a pack of attack craft, their forms disappearing in bright balls of flame.

"Keep them busy, here come the landing craft!" Red Leader called out, just as he saw another xenos craft plow through a trio of damaged attack craft. This time, however, it did not simply continue fighting as its victims exploded or fell away in pieces, but instead began a slowly-increasing tilt towards the ground far below, its speed increasing as its elevation dropped. "We have to buy them time!"

* * *

Martius had no idea where his little brother was, but he hoped he was with their parents. The sky was ablaze with the sounds of fighting, with countless streaks of fire and smoke impacting the ground all over the city. Some landed fairly close, crashing into buildings and exploding in the middle of streets. However, he didn't have time to worry about that. Dark, sinister craft, larger than those currently striking back at whatever defensive towers managed to land a blow, descended from the sky and landed. Inhuman, unholy creatures descended from the ramps as they opened, slicing their way mercilessly through whoever tried to stand against them, their strange forms and strange weapons terrifying to behold.

"Emperor save us," he muttered as he was shunted along the streets with countless others, the creatures looking on with what he guessed was disgust. Those that resisted were simply executed where they stood or fell, so after a few quick beheadings, the rest quickly filed into the dark ships. Any craft that drew too close were immediately attacked by the strange xenos craft nimbly darting through the skies, meaning there was no reprieve, and no chance of escape.

"The Emperor save us," Martius muttered again as he was shoved forward with the end of a large rifle, the four-armed reptilian creature towering above them hissing at them. Whether it was some foul speech of xenos origin, or merely just a simple noise, he did not know. All the young man did know was, as he boarded the dark, foreboding xenos craft, he would never see his family again. Then, packed tightly with countless others, some he knew and others he didn't, he closed his eyes as darkness consumed them.

* * *

"This is Shuttle One, coming in hot," a voice said over the vox, and from his makeshift command post in the royal guard barracks, Solomon breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever guards that weren't currently trying to man defense towers around the city were busy guarding Delvidia's mansion. The original captain of the guard had been wounded in the initial attack, so now his replacement, a fairly young man most likely promoted for his family's connections rather than any experience, stood by his side. He was busy wringing his hands and fretting over his family's well-being, despite them not even living in the capital city, but on an estate to the far north.

"Roger that Shuttle One, the large green field around the governor's mansion is the landing zone. Don't be afraid of scuffing up the gardens either if need be, they can be replaced."

"What of the other shuttles?" Delvidia asked from her corner, on a lounging couch. She had already vomited several times, though thankfully had stopped once her stomach had fully emptied itself. Still she was woozy, and wiping the blood of his former pilot from her hair had been a chore for Solomon, mostly because of the sickly-sweet smell.

"Most will be landing here, but others will land in clusters around the city," Solomon replied, gesturing to a makeshift tactical map. Well, the map was of the city, but the lines and everything drawn on it were of his doing. "We are landing zone Alpha. The other four landing zones will be centered around whatever defense towers are still functional."

"Sir! We're getting reports of enemy transports landing in portions of the city," an aide said, rushing into the room. "Details are sketchy, but anyone who doesn't get on board one of these ships is executed on the spot. Its… its really gruesome sir. What do we do?"

"Very well then, see what you can find about these attackers," Solomon said, before turning back to Delvidia. "Any idea why they would want to take prisoners? These xenos are not like orks, they are far too cunning and quick, and their technology far too advanced. For every fighter of theirs we manage to take down or drive off, we lose dozens of our own."

"Could they be slavers? Slavery is common throughout the Imperium for the lowest of classes, be they enslaved to work on a navy vessel or as supplemental troops for an armed force," Delvidia replied. "Piracy can also be a common plague in certain regions of the galaxy."

Slavery was a common thing in the Imperium. Solomon had not been expecting that, but given how ass-backwards everything was, he wasn't totally surprised. "What would a xenos species with advanced technology want with enslaving regular humans? It doesn't make sense, we're not all that durable compared to, say, orks, and frankly, what we could be used for is something I really don't want to consider." Solomon could picture it now: massively augmented humans, barely alive, rippling with alien materials and technology, in the end making them more machine than man.

It was rather scary to think about.

"Well, whatever they are taking those people for, we must do everything we can to stop it," Delvidia muttered. "I can't afford to lose too many of my civilians, I need them to harvest crops for the tithes we pay every year to the Imperium and Holy Terra. A shortage could mean a larger tithe the next cycle, or worse, a visit by the Administratum."

"How bad could it be?"

"I could be replaced alongside my family's wealth and power being usurped and given to someone else, or I could be simply executed," she replied with a glare that could freeze a river. "I cannot, and will not, let that happen."

Before Solomon could reply to that bit of unsettling news, the vox crackled to life once again. "This is Shuttle Two, Shuttle One… she's going down, I can't reach her on the vox!"

Outside, there was the sound of an enormous crash, followed by a solid thud that jolted everyone in the room. Rushing to the door over a fallen marble statue, Solomon saw a trail of smoke and fire along a long streak of scorched dirt upon the mansion grounds. As he ran towards it, the devastation was evident.

Shuttle One had been struck in the cockpit by either enemy fire or by the debris of a friendly attack craft, and had taken a sharp nosedive towards the ground at the last second. Flames were beginning to lick the front of the shuttle, but the doors were not opening, and as he approached, he could hear shouts and cries for help from within. Wasting no time, he drew his sword from his scabbard and struck the door as hard as he could along the seams. In a flash of light, the hinges fell away to a cabin full of smoke and choking troops. Grabbing the nearest one, Solomon dragged him out, just as the flames began to spread from the near-demolished cockpit. "Come on, get out of there!" he shouted, grabbing and bodily shoving another choking trooper onto the grass.

The rest didn't need much convincing, hauling ass out of the wreckage as quickly as they could. Just as Solomon helped the last out, something in the burning wreckage exploded, possibly someone's discarded lasgun powerpack, propelling him through the air and into a marble statue's supporting arms. His sword slipped from his grip onto the tiles below, and a ways away, the man he had been helping out rolled around, screaming as flames licked at his clothes.

"Gah!" Solomon coughed out, rolling out and onto his knees. Another roar in the sky made him look up, wheezing, as several other shuttles and transports came landing onto the open field. The doors for these opened up, and troops poured out, armed and ready for a fight.

"Captain Solomon sir, glad to see you're still in one piece!" a voice called.

The Rogue Trader turned. "Oy, Prollarius, you made it!"

"Sure did, but it wasn't easy," the man said, helping Solomon to his feet as several others extinguished the still-screaming soldier. "Pilots had to avoid our allied attack craft just as much as the enemy's up there in the clouds. Everything looked like shit from up there."

"Well, it's even worse from ground level," he replied, before pointing behind him. "Prollarius, I want you to set up command in and around that building, it's the royal guard barracks. Get the equipment and vehicles unloaded, and get some help for the wounded from any crashed shuttles," he added, as another transport plowed into the ground off in the distance amidst a group of larger vehicle barges. "Anyone from those that's not mortally wounded, get them ready, we've got a city to reclaim."

"Sir!" the aide from before called out, rushing as troops ran and gathered their gear all around the field. "We've got reports of successful landings of troops at zones Bravo through Easy. So far, no reports of any enemy response, our fighters seem to be distracting them."

"Well, that's good to hear," Solomon said, wiping some ashen soot from his face. Huh, he felt singed hair; blast must have caught him a bit closer than he thought.

"Sir!" another aide called out, just as a xenos craft roared overhead, billowing smoke and flame as a dozen attack craft continued to pursue it, unleashing volleys of lascannon and missile fire. "Delta Zone is reporting a force of xenos rapidly closing in on their position!"

"Tell them to hold out as long as they can, and that we're on our way," Solomon said, retrieving his sword from the cold stone beneath his feet. Turning to the gathering troops and vehicles, he raised it into the air. "All right everyone, fall in line, and follow me!"

* * *

It was utter madness moving through the streets towards Landing Zone Delta. Whatever civilians that were not dead or cradling dead loved ones were milling about in an aimless panic. Whenever they advanced, Solomon dictated his men to direct the civilians who could still seemingly understand what they were saying to follow the line of vehicles back to the mansion, where a defensive perimeter had been set up in and around the outlying buildings. Many refused to move, simply too in shock to respond, and had to be forcefully moved aside to make way for vehicles.

Solomon cursed the fact that none of his vehicles had any dedicated anti air weaponry. Sure, a large bolter could function almost like a flak gun, except the mini rockets were not fast enough to strike the enemy craft that flew low to the ground, and those gunners that did manage to land a hit often did no discernable damage. The sheer swarm of friendly attack craft filling the skies, and often resorting to ramming into the enemy, was likely the only reason that his ground troops weren't being strafed and cut to bloody ribbons.

Off in the distance, Solomon could see the occasional enemy barge-like craft lift off of the ground, its belly likely teeming with countless kidnapped civilians. Whatever nefarious purposes the xenos had for doing such a thing, he didn't know, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Nevertheless, they had to be stopped, and so when one of the craft began to descend near their position, he and his troops opened fire on it with everything they had.

It lurched to the side, plowing slightly into a taller building, the lack of heavy weapons on its exterior a good indicator it was not meant for a heavy assault, or a sustained resistance. The smaller weapons on it side were plenty deadly enough against infantry, though, forcing them to either hide behind buildings or their vehicles, taking potshots when they could. The xenos attack craft too preoccupied to assist, it soon lost power to whatever tech the xenos used as shields, and began to be torn apart by the sustained fire of Solomon and his forces, with more and more of its few weapon systems falling silent.

Just as it began to rise into the air once more, likely in an attempt to escape the barrage, a careening xenos attack craft, literally shredding itself apart at its high speeds from the damage it had thus sustained, crashed right into the larger craft. The resulting implosion collapsed several immediate buildings and scattered debris all over the city. Dust kicked up from it washed over Solomon's forces like a wave, coating them in the stuff.

"Come on, we have to reach Delta!" Solomon called out to his troops, several of his officers relaying these same orders through vox to the other landing zones. All across the city his forces were sweeping, either setting up defenses of sorts or trying to herd civilians towards safety. The xenos, despite their technological superiority, other than this most recent craft, were not landing troops elsewhere, so the going was much easier than anticipated. It would seem that, from the original call on Delta's end, the only xenos to land in force had headed strictly their way, though the question was, why? The tower they had landed around was indeed an old lance tower, much like others in the city. Perhaps its location was unique to the xenos?

Solomon didn't know, or frankly didn't care. Right now, all that mattered was getting to his troops at the landing zone. The skies were beginning to clear up from the number of xenos craft, the vast majority simply pulling out of the fight rather than continue. All over the city, buildings lay in ruins, with fires burning all over the countryside from crashed xenos and friendly attack craft alike. In some parts of the more urban areas of the city, craters simply appeared in the middle of streets and rows of houses, the final resting place of a pilot who died trying to defend the Imperium's citizens.

It made Solomon as angry as it made him sick. What kind of war was this? Fighting orks had been one thing, where crude but dangerous foes were fairly straightforward to attack or defend against. This, however… attacking a random, backwater planet, without any kind of early warning system in place to worry about, simply to take slaves for reasons unknown? It wasn't right, and now he was beginning to realize that this wasn't just war… this was survival. This is what every human had to fear, should they know of the terrors of the galaxy. Even if they remained blissfully unaware, it could still happen to them, to anyone.

Cresting the small hill before Delta zone, the captain felt his spirits fall even further. Down below were the shuttles his troops had rode in on, and everyone was around them, but…

The carnage was utterly awful, not even orks had caused this kind of maelstrom of death and destruction. As he and his other troops converged, all he could find of some troopers were bloodied scraps here or there, or a limbless torso strung up on top of a vehicle turret like some morbid puppet. Heads, limbs, entrails, bone and blood and everything in between lay strewn about the area, often in patterns too orchestrated to be merely random. The xenos… they had carved them apart like some sort of game bird, with vicious and wild abandon.

Here and there, a trooper groaned or cried out, often spurting blood as they did so. Whoever was still alive… they were in almost as bad a shape as the dead. One woman lay crying on the ground, heaving gasps as blood pooled from her back, which was nearly flayed open down to the damn bone. Another trooper dragged his buddy with him, his ankles bloody stumps where his feet had been sliced off while his friends hands had been shredded into a mangled mess. Another trooper aimlessly crawled around, like a dog, crying as blood ran down from sockets that no longer contained eyes, and from a gaping hole where her nose used to be. Others sat here or there, appearing unable to move, the mesy bits of bone sticking from their backs likely indicators or paralysis.

Solomon heard several troopers wretch and vomit in disgust. If not for the fact his own stomach was by now long-since empty, he likely would have joined them. "Prollarius, see if you can help these… these poor souls," he muttered. "Try and save as many as you can."

"And if we can't? If their injuries are too severe, or they beg for death?"

"Then put them out of their misery, and grant them that small mercy. Living with injuries like this… it's not living, it's just existing."

There was a crackle over the vox. "Captain Solomon, I'm… I'm so sorry."

"What?" he replied. That voice, it was zone Delta's primary vox operator, one of the almost-entirely rookie force sent into this area. If he had just known he was sending them to such a cruel and gruesome fate, then maybe…

"They came so fast, I tried to get away, to the top of the tower, but… they followed me. I'm so sorry captain, I'm-,"

There was a scream, and everyone looked up to see a form plunge to the ground below, the horrible, almost animalistic scream cut off by a sickening crunch on the stone below. High above, two forms stood atop the now-silent defense tower. One, reptilian, with four arms wielding four exotic weapons, while the other was tall, slender, with a horribly bloodied helmet under one arm, and a long, blade-like weapon in the other. The face… it would have been fairly beautiful, almost mesmerizing to Solomon, but the look of cold disgust, mixed with a macabre triumph…. It sent chills down his spine, chills eerily reminiscent of those when the daemonette had looked him in the eye.

With a gust of wind, a lone xenos attack craft soared down and hovered alongside the tower, and a small ramp extended from its lower belly. Even as he bellowed for his troops to open fire, Solomon watched the xenos creature replace her helmet, give him a strange, small salute with her weapons, and effortlessly jump up and into the craft, just as her four-armed reptilian companion did. With lasgun and lascannon strikes peppering the shields, the ramp closed on the craft and it rapidly took off, ascending high up into the sky, where it moved behind the clouds and disappeared from view entirely.

"Sir!" a voice called, as everyone ceased firing. "You may want to come look at this."

Solomon moved through the debris and carnage, trying not to look the dead beneath him in the eyes as he stepped over their prone, lifeless forms. Atop a piece of rubble, likely from an exploding building, one of the troopers stood over a still form. Yet… as he grew closer, Solomon realized it was not one of his soldiers, or one of the civilians the xenos had taken.

The slender build, the great height, the exotic weaponry and armor… this was not a human at all. The helmet, broken and lying off to the side, revealed a face much like that of the one he had seen atop the tower. Yet… it was harsher somehow, with a few more lines, and heavily tattooed, with an air of savagery literally embedded in its very skin. Piercings in the long, knife-like ears, as well as several notches in the upper portions, either damage from another fight or self-inflicted markings.

A xenos, skewered by debris, amidst an entire field of his massacred troops, the only evidence there had even been a fight.

"Are there any more?" Solomon asked. This was no ork, but something else, something new. Something that, if by what he had seen was any indication, was extremely dangerous as well.

"So far we have found none, sir, though we haven't had time to check the wreckage from whatever ships of theirs crashed," the man replied. "Is it possible they retrieve their dead, but missed this one?"

"No, I doubt that," Prollarius said as he came up alongside Solomon. "This one looks like it might have been an important one, or maybe one of higher stature. I'm thinkin' that, if they grab their dead blokes, then they would've grabbed this one too."

"So, if they don't leave their dead, then for now, this is the only one we've found here," Solomon muttered. "They… they massacred my troops in close quarters, nearly a thousand total, and all we have to show for their sacrifice is one lousy body?"

"It would seem so, sir. What should we do?"

The Rogue Trader was silent for a few moments, the wind rustling his hair as attack craft flew in formation overhead, the skies now secured. "Send word to my ship, we'll need to send a message to the rest of the Imperium as to what happened here. Bring me a shuttle, and any other bodies of these xenos anyone finds. If we're going to learn how to fight this enemy, we need to know what we're up against."

A voice crackled over the vox, which Solomon quickly realized was that of Syngra. "Sir, I regret to inform you that the xenos ship has fled the planet, and will exit the system far too quickly to pursue and retaliate. We already attempted to engage, but the _Terra's Scion_ was out of range, and the craft was simply too fast for us. I'm sorry."

Mastuonus Primus was no longer under siege, at least, but it was now in terrible shape. Countless civilians dead, with many other wounded or missing, presumed captured, and all they had to show for their defense were some crashed xenos attack craft and, for now, this one dead one. Solomon was pissed, but knew that getting angry right now wasn't going to help rebuild this world.

"Give the order, Mastuonus Primus is secure," he said into his vox. "I want all available troops planetside now, to help begin with reconstruction. Send word to Vaeria Primus and whatever nearby worlds that will receive me, we're going to need some help rebuilding from this disaster."

"What about you, sir? Will you return to the ship?"

"No, Syngra, I have… something else to attend to first. I'll contact you when I am finished."

* * *

"We're receiving reports from all over the planet," Solomon said. "Your world was hit fairly lightly, to be honest, though the capital city was hit the hardest of all. Rebuilding has begun in many parts, but it'll take some time before anyone shows up to help."

"The Imperium?" Delvidia asked.

"They're sending some rear admiral to check things out, and maybe to help if he wishes," the Rogue Trader replied, shaking his head. "I just hope he doesn't mess things up worse than they already are."

"What of the others, of nearby planets? Have they reported attacks?"

"No, but I convinced a few to send some aid our way," he muttered. "Crenon's sending a large shipment of women for repopulation, and Vaeria Primus has started churning out building equipment in its manufactorums as well as some larger planetary defense systems. It'll be a few months before they arrive here in bulk, but in the meantime, we'll have to make do with what we have."

The governor was silent for a few moments. "And you?"

"I'm staying for the foreseeable future," Solomon said. "If I do leave, it'll be to get the Woebus refugees from my moon base on Talmanjir. They owe me a great debt, so I intend to use that as best I can to help your world recover. After that, who knows? Maybe they'll actually want to settle down here."

"Thank you Solomon, you have no idea how much this means to me," Delvidia muttered, rising from her couch.

"It's nothing, really," he whispered back. "I'm just doing what I can to help."

"And I thank you for that," she said, before reaching up and pulling him close. Her lips, softer than silk, tasted faintly of the fruit wine of their ruined date, but he felt and tasted her for only a moment, before she pulled away. "Thank you, Solomon, thank you for all that you've done, but for the time being, we must part ways. You have your duties to help rebuild this world, as well as to whatever your private affairs are, and right now, so do I, to my people and to my world. We will meet again in the near future, for business, but as for other matters… I am afraid everything else will have to be put on hold. Until next time, then?"

He was silent for a few moments, shock mixing with a weary resignation. Everything had been so good just yesterday, and now, he was helping to rebuild a world nearly torn apart by war. "Until next time, Delvidia," he said with a nod. "When everything is done and settled, and the planet is no longer a smoking scar… then, maybe, we can meet again, under calmer circumstances."

"It's a date then," she said with a small twinkle in her eye, before she turned and left.

"I guess so," Solomon whispered softly to himself, alone in the old guard barracks.

* * *

"A successful attack, plenty of slaves taken, with very few losses," the captain said, looking over the small group of warriors before him. Off in the distance, the cries of agony that whispered through the ship's air filtration system were like music to his pointed ears. "Sounds to me that the filthy _mon'keigh_ are learning their place, if a bit slowly. Then again, what else do you expect of such a young and primitive race?"

"Where to now, sire?" a Wych asked, her helmet removed. She wished to find whoever had led those _mon'keigh_ troops, his seemed like the sort whose soul might be fairly Thirst-quenching. The slaughter of the dumb animals had been as enjoyable as it had sadly been quick, but there would be more, she was sure of it.

"Do not fret, young one, this may have been a successful harvest, but we have a larger target in mind," he replied with a savage grin. "We set course for the others, who have just begun the final stages of attack on our conceited kin. Soon, we shall find ourselves with some new playthings, and perhaps, know what they were so desperately searching for, to exclude use of the Webway to find it."

 **A/N: well, this took longer than I had anticipated, but hey, it was worth it. Solomon has met yet another of the xenos races that inhabit the galaxy, he's helping to rebuild a world, he's sent for help from some nearby worlds, and soon enough, a representative of the Imperium will be showing up to see what happened. Oh, and Dark Eldar are looking for regular Eldar. As for what will occur after that, who knows?**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

The days stretched into weeks since the attack on Mastuonus Primus, many seemingly blending together in a daze of grief and rebuilding. The more rubble that was uncovered, the greater the death toll across the world rose. Graves stretched on for miles where there had once open forest, and fields were slowly being tilled and prepared for the next planting season with whatever vehicles remained, the wreckage of many Imperial attack craft leaving scorched trails or deep craters within them.

Solomon had been granted permission by Delvidia to scavenge, salvage, or destroy any and all remnants of the xenos. As it would turn out, whatever larger xenos craft that had been shot down were so filled with horrific booby traps that the cost in lives to try and explore them was simply too great for Solomon to tolerate. So, with whatever explosives and vehicles of his own he could take from patrols and guard duty, he destroyed the craft with extreme prejudice. The few attack craft that had crashed or been destroyed thankfully held no such dangers, though the materials could have been radioactive for all any of them knew, so they were handled with the utmost caution as far from the city limits as possible.

Including the one xenos body found amidst the carnage that had been Landing Zone Delta, there had been only a few more found relatively intact from the wreckage of the crashed ships. Many were horribly burnt or occasionally in pieces, so gathering them all into a large cooling unit to prevent decomposition had been fairly top priority. That, and keeping contact with them as minimal as possible, as they possibly were infected with unknown diseases that could kill a populace just as effectively as the invaders themselves. So, it had fallen to Syngra, complete with medical scrubbers and equipment to dissect one of the more burned deceased. Internally, the organs of whatever these xenos were was eerily similar to humans, but with pieces often in opposite or strange places, or some pieces that had no real equivalent in a human body. The fact that most were recognizable, as were their functions, astounded Solomon. Did all xenos in the galaxy have a form similar to humans, or were orks and these new xenos simply similar, and the only ones at that?

Solomon still had terrible dreams of the slaughter he had come across. It was like Woebus all over again, only this time, he hadn't been there. No, his troops had gone in, fully expecting a potential fight, but that… that had been so one-sided it didn't matter how well trained they might have been. He didn't even know how many xenos they had faced, nor did he want to meet them again unless he held a massive advantage. The mocking salute of that one… it still creeped him out. Surely the admiral coming their way would know something of these foes, or one of those in his retinue. He was coming with a trio of cruisers, as well as several escorts, and whatever troops he had been able to muster.

In the meantime, nearby worlds and systems that had bothered to respond to their calls had sent the citizens of Mastuonus Primus a plethora of aid. The first admittedly small shipment of agri-vehicles from Vaeria Primus had recently arrived, and soon enough, anyone who had operated them before the attack were out in the fields, making sure everything was properly tilled and planted for the next season. In their own system, Mastuonus Secundus had sent a large number of ores and other materials to help rebuild the damaged infrastructure and whatever defense towers had been shredded apart.

The shipment of settlers from Crenon had arrived in-system a short time ago, the ship carrying tens of thousands of feral worlders. Only as the ship finally reached orbit above the planet, and the first of many shuttles began to land around the governor's mansion, did Solomon realize just why Crenon specialized in exporting women. Well, first of all, was just due to an unusual genetic adaption that led to healthier, stronger women, as well as a predilection for daughters and more children overall. The second, well…

"Greetings, one called Solomon," the lead Crenon representative said at the landing pad. "I am Mrixxe, of clan Ulte, of the planet Crenon." Standing up to six inches taller than him, with fairly intimidating tribal tattoos and rather olive skin, Solomon could only fully describe the group and their leader as Amazonian in nature. Long braided hair, clothes made from a variety of tanned animal hides, and a build that would have been a supermodel to some, and an Olympic athlete to others; they truly were a sight to behold. Which reminded him; were there even the equivalent of Olympics in this day and age? Maybe it depended on the planet in question.

"Greetings," he replied. "Welcome to Mastuonus Primus."

"Where is the matriarch of this world?" one of the others asked, a fairly nasty scar running across the center of her face.

"Matriarch?" Solomon repeated. "Governor Delvidia is busy on the other side of the world, helping maintain order in some of the more damaged regions."

"Why then would the matriarch of this world send us to meet with an unlanded youngblood?"

Did… did she just insult him? He wasn't familiar with the aspects of their way of life, but Solomon had a sneaking suspicion she'd just accused him of being some lackey. "I really don't see what that has to do with anything… or what that means."

"Please forgive her rudeness, Valexus is young, and still a bit brash," Mrixxe replied, shooting the younger woman a stern look. "In our society, offworlder, clans are ruled by matriarchs, who then groom their sons to be part of the tribal councils, of whom a leader is elected. With comparably few sons born to the average Crenon woman, each and every one is a potential council member or even high chief, and must be groomed and cared for with utmost devotion. However, there is the stigma amongst non-mothers that sons are not worth anything until they have proven themselves, either in combat, conquest or courtship."

"Well, okay, I guess," Solomon said, still unsure if "offworlder" was a bit insulting. "If you'll come with me, I'd be glad to show you around the capital. What of the other settlers?"

"The others will land elsewhere on the planet," Mrixxe said. "As leader, I decided that the largest detachment of us would be stationed in the capital, where the most damage was. Now then, what about you? Who exactly are you, to greet us and introduce us to this strange world?"

"Me?" he asked. "Um… well, I am a partner of Governor Delvidia, who basically runs this world."

"Her husband or concubine?"

"What? No, no, nothing like that. We're business partners, close allies if you will. She's not married either."

"As a close ally, what do you provide?"

"Provide?"

"Is it a service of kind? Or do you owe her something, and are thus paying off a debt?"

He shook his head. "No, no, nothing like that, more like… I do things for her, and she helps me as best she can. I recruited much of my original complement of troops from her world, and have been instrumental in helping defend her world, as well as rebuild and develop it." Why was she so interested in that? Unlike the others, who kept looking around as they walked through the city, this Mrixxe must have been off world before, to be so casual about being on another planet other than Crenon.

"To go along with what Valexus asked before, what is your investment in this world other than being in an alliance with the planetary matriarch? Do you own any estates on this world?"

"No, no, I don't own any land here. I do have my own ship, the _Terra's Scion_ , in orbit above us."

"You are the captain of the cruiser we passed by during our descent?"

"Yep. Also have my own moon, though I think I've still got some paperwork to fill out with the Administratum to make it totally official." For all he knew, unless fate or the Emperor smiled upon him, he'd be long dead of old age by the time the bureaucracy managed to find, fill out, and make official that particular form.

"You own a _moon?_ "

There was a beep from Solomon's personal vox, and silently, he thanked the Emperor for the interruption. These questions were getting a bit too personal, and from the way Mrixxe and several of the other Crenon women were looking at him, he'd apparently gone from "unlanded youngblood" to "very valuable courting prospect", and he wasn't exactly liking it. "Hello?" he asked, noticing the channel was not from his own ship. "With whom am I speaking?"

"Captain Solomon, this is Admiral Deiad Gillmer, of the cruiser _Starwatcher_. I have arrived above Mastuonus Primus in response to the distress call and request for aid and supplies made several weeks ago."

"You're over the planet? How come we didn't pick you up on our sensors?" Solomon asked. Had their equipment been damaged in the attack?

"We ran silent, as we did not wish to alert any potential remnant xenos to our presence. If that had not been the case, we would have contacted you as soon as we entered the system."

"Well, at least you're here, so that counts for something. How soon can you deploy on the planet?"

"Some of my regiments are preparing as we speak, though myself and my retinue will personally arrive in a matter of minutes."

Solomon turned to one of his troopers. "Private, escort Mrixxe and her cohort to the nearest aid station, where they can set out from for whatever reasons they wish. If you need anything, you have my vox number."

Nodding, the trooper saluted and left, the majority of the Crenon women following soon after. However, more than a few stuck around, making sure Solomon wrote down where they were going to stay, much to his dismay.

Soon after the last had left him alone, and when the clouds high in the sky split as countless transports and shuttles began to descend upon the planet, Solomon didn't really feel entirely confident about this turn of events. The men and woman coming down to meet him could be entirely fanatical, like those he had heard of in stories, people willing to sacrifice thousands for pride, or even millions for a means of undercutting a rival. Wasn't humanity supposed to be unified against the threats of the galaxy, and not bickering like a bunch of idiots? The divisions between the large portions of the Imperium, like the Mechanicus, Administratum, navy and other armed forces struck him as just awful. A unified front was easier than a rivalry-riddled wall, and with enough pressure, such a wall would crumble to dust.

"There's only so much I can hope for," he muttered as the main shuttle landed amidst a throng of smaller ones. Immediately, a small retinue of highly armored, heavily armed men emerged, their armor insignia unlike those of other regiments he had seen before. Must have either been a custom force for the admiral, or were of some guardsmen troop he hadn't read up on. Considering just how many there were in the Imperium, Solomon wouldn't be surprised if the latter was the truth.

The main shuttle opened its ramp, and after some smoke billowed out, a series of loud footsteps emanated from the ship. Yet, Solomon had not been expecting the man who emerged from the shuttle, nor the entourage that proceeded him, as both were unlike any he had seen before. There was a man so stuffed with mechanical parts he looked like a floating junkyard, a massively muscular man with a face so brutally ugly his own mother might have vomited at the sight of it upon his birth, and a pair of women he couldn't make heads or tails of. One was fairly tall, but covered in bulky armor and wielding at least three different heavy weapons. She stood beside a slightly shorter, robe-shrouded lady with a large hood over her head, and what he surmised was some sort of clothed face mask, currently pulled down around her neck. All seemed fairly alert, just as the admiral himself came out of the shuttle, though the robed woman seemed particularly interested in whomever walked past.

"Greetings," said a rather flamboyantly-dressed figure, sporting a mechanical monocle, a robotic hand, a fairly large hat and an impressive handlebar mustache. "I am Admiral Deiad Gillmer, at your service. Would you be Captain Solomon?" he asked with a flourishing bow.

"Yes," Solomon replied, with a curt bow of his own. "My ship, the _Terra's Scion,_ is in orbit, and has been for a while now. I was hoping to learn more from you as to the identity of the xenos that attacked this world."

"This is your first time encountering them?"

He nodded. "They weren't orks, I'll tell you that. Too fast, too precise, and far too… different. For one, they took prisoners, and their vehicles were as sleek as they were deadly. I somehow lost a lot of pilots and ground troops to their forces, even though my own and the planet's defenses vastly outnumbered them."

As if to demonstrate, Solomon retrieved a small blade from a crate most of the xenos weapons had been stashed in. It felt awful under his touch, so utterly foreign and yet somehow familiar, that he wanted to drop it almost immediately. "Here, a sample of one of their weapons," he said, setting it down on a nearby makeshift table, as countless workers milled around the area. "It's too finely crafted out of material I can't identify for it to be a simple construct of an ork or human."

"I see," the floating junk-man said, three sets of binocular-like attachments swiveling in front of a pair of beady eyes. "These would be blades of the dreaded xenos known for their savagery and wild abandon on the battlefield, bloodlust enhanced by well-honed senses and skill."

"Who, then?"

"They are known as Dark Eldar," the admiral, scrunching his nose at the sight of the weapon in question. "They are a most foul xenos race, perhaps even more so than orks, for as orks crave war and will gladly fight anyone, even one another, these dreaded fiends crave only the sweetest of agonies and souls of other races."

"Souls?"

"Yes, they seek to sacrifice those for the most unholy of rituals, or so we think, as we know very little about them outside of how fearsome they are in battle," the man replied. "From what we can discern, they are all psychic, like their cousins, and thus are able to commit atrocities to the mind and spirit far worse than any blade or bullet. Much of their technology is psychically imbued or wielded, so the fact that any of those you faced managed to fall in battle is, well, surprising."

"The only pilots of theirs that fell were because my troops rammed them out of the sky, dying in droves in the process," Solomon said, spitting on the ground. "They were like tongues of flame, destroying all in their path, with only a few dead to show for the efforts and sacrifices my troops made."

"The planet still stands, as a testament to the sacrifice of your men," the hooded woman replied, her voice carrying an unearthliness to it that was eerily similar to that of Pontius. Was she too a psyker? "Do not fret over their fate, their souls are at peace in the arms of the Emperor."

Yep, definitely a psyker. He'd have to watch out for her. "You spoke of their cousins?"

"Yes, a sister species of sorts, though we believe them to have originated first," Deiad replied. "They are known as Eldar, and while not as savage or sadistic, they are no less fierce in battle than Dark Eldar. They have fallen far from days of glory, as their own undoubtedly biased stories go, but they can be foes one minute, or unforeseen allies at any time, or vice versa. At best they will aid others, including those in the Imperium, but only if it suits them, and at worst they can bring about untold suffering and loss onto those former allies, just to save the lives of their own."

Well, they certainly sounded like a strange bunch. Solomon wasn't sure why, but he felt these Eldar might be useful, if he could at all make some kind of contact with them. After that, well, he'd have to see how things went. "What of the rest of your forces?" he asked.

"They will be landing around the planet to scope out the full extent of the damage, with some staying behind to assist in rebuilding and healing," the man replied. "A small covenant of the Order Hospitallier has been cooped up in my ships for some time, so the chance to ply their work and get some fresh air will do them some good, following their more recent troubles."

"I am their representative," the strangely-armored woman said. "Please direct me to the governor as soon as possible, I surmise there is much work to be done."

"Indeed there is, miss…?"

"Prioress Absinthia Geladia."

"Prioress, Governor Delvidia will be in her private staging area, in mansion capitol," Solomon said, motioning towards the large structure. Repair work covered many of its features, having sustained heavy damage from wayward friendly fire and xenos strafing runs. "I will send word of your impending arrival."

"See that you do, some members of the Sororitas do not take well to tardiness and a perceived lack of diligence, captain. May the Emperor's holy-… I mean, wisdom, guide you in your future, hopefully more spiritual, endeavors."

As the woman strode off, Solomon shot a glance at the admiral, who merely shook his head.

"The Sororitas do a large part of helping to run and maintain the Imperium, though even with their recent disbanding as a religious organization, their members tend to still be a tad more zealous than others." The man paused. "Did you by chance receive the information from Holy Terra concerning the matter?"

"I'll have to check my ship's spam box filter, I've had to look for certain messages in there before," he replied with a shrug. "Still, from what I've been able to scrounge up, the Emperor is the beacon for humanity, and we should treat him as such: both a guide and a role model, though I'd like to know more."

"I do have a data codex on a large part of the history of the Imperium, though I've yet to find any history from before then that hasn't been so censored it resembles a bar code. I can have an underling retrieve it, should you wish."

"Yes, that would be great," Solomon said, before motioning to the hideously-ugly large man behind the admiral. "Who is that?"

"Urg."

"Urg?"

"Yes, Urg, or at least, that's the name he responds to. He's an ogryn, and my personal bodyguard. Not the brightest of the sanctioned mutants within the Imperium, as most ogryns are fairly stupid, but he's incredibly loyal, even to the point of death, and extremely adept at both dealing out and taking all manner of firepower."

"Sounds… well, I can't say I've met worse kinds of bodyguards, but loyalty and durability are always good things. What of the other two?"

"Ah, yes, my sanctioned psyker," Deiad said, motioning to the hooded woman. "She is a gift from an Inquisitor, the result of countless hours of training and soul fortifying in the light of the Emperor. She's not my astropath, though, I leave him up on the ship."

"A sanctioned psyker? I need to get me one of those, I need another source of communication between my ship and I when I'm on-planet, just in case my vox gets damaged."

"Good luck, they are fairly rare, even lower level ones, and she's… well, she's not exactly stable. The Warp calls to her all the time, so much so that to a "normal" human, such as you or I, she would seem either completely insane or at the very least dangerously unhinged."

"Does she have a name?" Solomon asked.

"She goes by Krekka, though her full name is Krekalia Yandelay," the admiral said. "I only call her that when she's in trouble, though."

"In trouble?"

"Yes, a few days ago, she mentally manipulated some poor guardsmen into finding her irresistible, and then proceeded to keep him "busy" for so long his commissar almost killed the poor man over his absence."

"Did you intervene?"

"Of course, but I had to discipline Krekka as well, if only because she's pulled this kind of stunt before, and I can't let her off too easy without setting a bad example for the troops," Admiral Deiad said with a shrug. "So, while I am on planet… be sure to watch your back."

Solomon glanced back at the hooded woman, who flashed him a rather unnerving smile. "I'll… do my best. What about the floating scrap pile?"

"I am Adept Graimlyne, miserable flesh pile," the metal man said, his voice somewhere between a small buzz saw and a xylophone in both tone and pacing. "You would do well to recognize my obvious superiority in my devotion to the Machine God, and show me as such the respect I deserve."

"Ignore him, he's more of a hassle half the time than he is any help," the admiral said with a low sigh. "I've had to remind him that troops only need to replace a limb if said limb is actually missing."

"They still would be fifteen percent more capable in battle if I replaced their worthless ears with small vox antennae for communications," the floating man replied, turning back to Solomon. "The xenos who have fled this world, did they leave anything behind?"

"Yes, actually, I wanted to talk with you about that," Solomon said, as his vox beeped. Reading the small message, he breathed a sigh of relief: the troops of the admiral landing all over the world were just beginning to help with cleanup, though why a large shipment of Kriegers had been sent to the south was beyond him. Why build fortifications when rebuilding infrastructure and healing this world's wounds was more sensible? "I've come across several of their weapons and crafts, though some are not in the best of shape. I also have a few bodies in reasonable condition, but like their constructs, I've been keeping them in quarantine, as a precaution."

"What is it you wish to have for the xenos technology?"

"Wish to have?" Solomon asked. "I have no idea how any of it works, so take what you want."

"You do not wish to bargain for it?" the admiral asked, as Graimlyne made several excited beeps.

"Why? You could easily pull rank or something and seize it all. No, I think giving it to you guys, and thus the Mechanicus, would be better. You guys can deal with it, you have the manpower and technical resources to deal with it."

"… it seems I have misjudged you, meatbag," the Adept replied, floating over and extending a mechandrite. "Your willingness to part with such technology, and to give it to the Mechanicus, belies a good understanding of where you stand in the Imperium. Though what we may learn from this technology might take decades or centuries to unravel, let alone use, it will be well worth it, I believe."

Solomon shook the man's extension, glad he didn't crush his hand in the process. "What of the bodies of the xenos?" he asked Deiad.

"We will send them to a special order that deals in their dissection and study," the admiral replied. "Learning from your enemy, especially their weaknesses, is a most valuable skill."

"Cool, though for those, I would like an exchange," Solomon replied. "I'd like to think, an item for a corpse, depending on the value of the item itself."

"Sounds fair to me, considering the rarity of Dark Eldar corpses. Name your price, Rogue Trader, and I will consider its trade value."

Later…

Adept Syngra had her work cut out for her. Having forged a stamp of approval for all of Solomon's custom-made farming equipment for Mastuonus Primus, and thus having to lie to more Imperium officials than she ever thought possible, she then had to try and think of new ways to build defenses against attacks like this most recent one. For all her brilliance and access to technology, as well as potential access to Mechanicus supplies and information, should she ever rise in rank, she needed help managing everything that she did. Maybe finding a few bright young men and women from planets the captain was set to visit could lead to a team working for her? It'd certainly be nice to hear some fresh ideas outside of Solomon, Prollarius or herself.

"Syngra!" a voice called out, just as a loud thud sounded from behind her. A large aircraft, completely drowned out by the amount of construction she was in the midst of, flew up and away, just as she turned around. Eyes zeroing in on a large symbol, as well as a large amount of high caliber firepower, she immediately realized the distinctive facial features were so much different this close.

Syngra's stomach would have dropped out of her torso, if not for the constant replacements, reconstructions, and additions to her internal organs and overall body structure. "Where in the name of the Omnissiah did you get that?" she asked, shouting over the noise around her.

"I traded a bunch of dead xenos with Admiral Deiad for it. You like?" Solomon grinned like an idiot in the fading light of the planet's star, from atop an imposing compilation of firepower, armor, and Imperium engineering. It had taken a lot of time, sweat, and convincing, but the admiral had relented, seeing as it had been just collecting dust in a warehouse within the man's cruiser.

"I've never seen one before, despite my extensive travels with Ordacius," the techpriestess said, her mechandrites lovingly caressing the external armor. "I have only heard tales of their prowess in battle, and of the brave warriors who pilot them."

"Good," Solomon said, dismounting from atop the Knight, the battlesuit's armor dinged by old battle scars. "That's because we're going to build our own, based off of this basic design."

"We are?" she asked. "What of the older dreadnaught designs you and I were pouring over?"

"We're going to combine the best of both," he said. "We need mobile heavy weapons the next time we find ourselves in a war, and these knight chassis, combined with that of a dreadnaught, and a little of our tinkering, will bring the Imperium's wrath upon whatever foes we face. Or, at least, it'll really help us out, and that's always a good thing. It's not like we have any Titan chassis or blueprints to look through, so for now, we'll make do with this."

"Solomon?" Syngra asked, her head cocking slightly to the side.

"Yes?"

Her mechandrites writhing wildly, she pulled in him into a hug. "Thank you," she whispered, before falling silent. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Syngra? Are… you all right?" he asked, caught off guard by this sudden behavior. She wasn't one to display emotion too readily outside of truly abnormal situations, so this hug, the very first from her, was weird. That, and the sudden small shakes she was currently experiencing. "Are… are you crying?"

"No, no, I'm just… the dust from the rebuilding is making my eyes water," she replied, making a somewhat robotic sniffle. "I'll get back to the designs from before, we have a lot of work to do now."

"Yes we do," Solomon said, looking out over the countless guardsmen, Sororitas, Crenons and civilians milling about, repairing and rebuilding everything they could. The planet had survived and would emerge stronger from it, and judging from the new defense towers rising in the distance, so too would its planetary defenses. "Yes we do."

Meanwhile…

"Rise meatbag, your sentence has been served and stay in this prison terminated."

Titus looked up from his barebones cell bed as his cell door was opened. The techpriest looking over him, a floating tangle of wires and lightbulbs, gave him a strange look of disdain, as if releasing him were a task better delegated to a servitor. "Under whose authority has this been achieved?" the former space marine asked.

"By the authority of an Inquisitor whose name is meaningless to my audio receptors," the Adept replied, moving away from the cell door. "Take only what you need, transport has been obtained for you, as well as directions."

Titus did not say anything for a few moments, processing this information as best he could. "Where am I to go?" he asked, his weapons, armor, and any relics having been long since confiscated. For all he knew, they had been sent back to Ultramar, or even destroyed for the suspicion of possible chaotic taint; maybe both. If not destroyed, then another Ultramarine, likely a former Scout, was using them to fight the enemies of man.

"You will journey to a detachment of Deathwatch, stationed over a small forge world deep within Imperium space, where a… situation has arisen," was the reply. "After that, you will join them, and await further instructions."

"Deathwatch?" Titus repeated, walking out of his cell and tasting freedom for the longest time. It was… different, given his past, but to be free of his charges, charges he had known to be false, and to be free once more, even if disgraced, was a wondrous feeling. If he could, he would try and find Lieutenant Mira, if she still lived. A friendship and camaraderie like hers was not one easily forgotten. "So I may still serve the Emperor and the Imperium?"

"Correct, now leave before I shock you," the Adept said impatiently, extending a large electrical prod.

Without a word, and with his thoughts drifting to what future lay ahead of him, Titus, former captain of the Ultramarines, left the barren rock that was his prison for the longest time, and set off for parts unknown.

Meanwhile…

"Sir, can I talk with you for a minute?"

Solomon looked up from the blueprints he'd been fiddling with. Strapping a massive shotgun to the cannon arm of the Knight would, in theory, make it far deadlier in close combat. However, the strain it would put on the whole chassis meant it'd need to be replaced after every single battle, so for now, a bunch of smaller shotguns or clusters of bolters would likely be the best case scenario. "Sure, trooper Janeve, what is it?"

"Sir, it is none of my concern, yet I know that none of us have seen you attending the chapel within the ship dedicated to the Emperor. What you do with your time is your own business, but, if you don't mind me asking… just why is that?"

"Well, for starters, I didn't really know where the chapel was until someone told me," the captain replied with a shrug. "After that, I visited it a few times, but it always felt… crowded."

"Many of the crew go to the chapel on leave or on a rotation to confess their sins and pray to the Emperor for strength, even with the decree he is not a god and should not be worshiped as such," she said.

"Well, the way I see it, it you were going to thank the Emperor for what you have, be it looks, smarts, wealth, power, or even your life as it is, why do it in front of just anyone?" Solomon asked, not knowing if she knew more than she let on. "Why not do it in private, away from prying eyes, where only the Emperor may hear you? In a chapel, in the middle of a crowd of like-minded fellows, your message could get distorted or lost, or just be that, a common message of no real note. But by yourself, with nothing to distract you, your focus could then make your thanks all the stronger, and thus all the louder and more important for the Emperor to hear." He paused, watching as a few Sororitas glanced in his direction as they walked past. "I hope that clears things up, trooper. Praying is not exactly a required thing anymore, but if you want to thank the Emperor in a non-religious way, go right ahead."

"Yes sir, of course sir," the woman replied. "I shall take my leave, then?"

"Go ahead, I've got stuff to do, and I'm sure you do too."

Setting off at a brisk pace after a brief salute, Solomon watched as the trooper soon met with the passing Sororitas, and as they entered a seemingly deep discussion, disappeared into the crowds around him. Shaking his head, he got back to work. Maybe a flamethrower built into the Knight's groin would work better for close quarters?

Meanwhile…

The stars shone outside the sleek hull of the agile spacecraft, though they were constantly eclipsed by the bright lights and dark shapes of craft swarming over the silent Eldar corsair. Its occupants, in a desperate fight for survival, and to keep their mission a secret, knew of no other means of escape after their ability to flee had been damaged beyond repair. So they fought with a desperate ferocity, repelling boarder after boarder, though their own casualties continued to mount.

"It is only a matter of time," the captain said, bleeding from a severe laceration across the chest. "We have bled them well, but I am afraid out mission will not succeed. We are too crippled to flee, and too soon, we will be too crippled to fight back."

"Our mission, the mission of our very people, must succeed! We are too close to fail now," the seer under his care said, her young daughter sheltered behind her as shuttles approached from a different side once again. "We must, we have not come this far and risked this much to obtain something of this importance!"

"Enemy parties boarding as we speak, they are latching onto the hull!" one of the remaining technicians said, just as the last volleys from the gun batteries fired point blank into the dark form of their twisted cousin's large ship. Fire and atmosphere spewed forth into the darkness, just as they had before, though these hits were true, and slowly, the enemy ship began to slowly sputter and die in the vast ink of space.

"Send all available warriors to their locations, if they reach the bridge in significant numbers, we will be overrun," the captain said, just as debris struck the ship, sending it lurching. All around, countless craft and shrapnel floated along, just as the last of the shuttles attached to the side of the corsair and emptied their contents into the wounded ship. There was yet another fight to be had, but who would win?


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

It had been a fairly long time since help had arrived at Mastunous Primus, and though the rebuilding was complete, and the admiral and his troops were readying to eventually leave for parts unknown, Solomon was certain more trouble was on the horizon. Even with these months of relative peace, despite an occasional fistfight between groups of Crenon women on who was courting whom, the rest of the galaxy had been moving on without them. A warlord had risen up on Mastuonus Tertius after a weapons shipment from Vaeria Primus had crashed there, and Solomon was now tasked to clean up the mess.

Considering the warlord was apparently being continually supplied by a now-fugitive Governor Orcha Orchus, whose own people had risen up and evicted him after he tried to insist they use bananas as lubricants during an oil shortage, Solomon knew his foes would not exactly be easy to deal with. Their newly-built mobile space base, a combination of a cruiser and an asteroid processor, meant Orchus could move rapidly out into the mineral-rich regions of space within their own or nearby systems, process the raw elements into tools, weapons and gear, and distribute them as he saw fit, usually in exchange for either crew, supplies, or alliances.

It didn't help matters that his foe would be fighting on his home turf as well. Tertian warriors often fought in open plains, so they were masters of stealth, ambush, and needed little in the way of infrastructure to fight an enemy. So to be supplied with fairly recent tech meant they'd be a very hard foe to contend with. If this conflict erupted into a full-blown planetary war, and the unrest spread to nearby systems, the whole region of space could suffer from revolts or civil war. Mastuonus Primus was having a hard enough time as it was rebuilding, so any real consolidating of dissidents would likely cause even more trouble than the Dark Eldar had.

Solomon felt that, for such a small sphere of influence that he had, for it to all be just torn apart by infighting that he could potentially stop, meant that he must stop it, and that meant cutting it off at the source: the former governor and his mobile base. Either killing or capturing him would be the best means of putting an end to this problem, especially if he was going to be expanding his power base and list of allies. Putting down a planetary revolt was one thing, but capturing a governor fleeing from justice was another entirely.

That, and he really wanted that ship. It wasn't big enough to build, say, a defense fleet of large ships, but if he, Syngra, and other he brought on board could redesign or improve on it, he very well could come up with a means of creating larger or more powerful ships than those a normal planet might have, in a much shorter amount of time, and with vastly improved systems.

For starters, his own ship was part cruiser and part transport for the sheer number of crew it needed. Really, a crew only needed as many to function as it should have, give or take as many needed to either board or repel boarders. He'd much prefer if he could have fewer crew needed for ships, especially if said ships were just as powerful, but smaller in size. Then again, anyone running those ships would have to be both trustworthy and loyal to him, and at the very least were not going to fall to Chaos. That was a big one for all ships in any fleet he would wind up making: even a few turning traitor on him could kill him or devastate all he had worked for in very short order.

So, for the time being, getting a defense fleet for his own holdings and allies was of a higher priority than making his own massive armada. The key was that ship of the former governor, and therein lay a problem: just how in the Warp was he supposed to get inside without winding up shot to bits? Undoubtedly it had fairly well-managed defenses, so a large boarding attempt could potentially be shot down before it made it even close. After that, even getting to the exiled Mechanicus wasn't going to be easy. With all the troops, traps, and likely automated defenses within the ship itself, it would take either a crack team to find him and shut it all down, or overwhelming numbers.

Solomon admitted he didn't have either. Even now, with fresh recruits from several nearby systems training on his moon base of Talmanjir, there was no telling how many he'd have to potentially sacrifice to gain this most valuable piece of equipment. So, in his makeshift war room in the royal guard barracks, he sat at a table detailing the pros and cons of the mission, with both his own crew and the retinue of the visiting admiral, all of them trying to come up with a plan to succeed without getting all of them killed.

"What about running silent as we close in on the ship, then fire our boarding shuttles towards the bridge?" Prollarius suggested.

"No, they'd still be able to either see us outside of their bridge, or detect us with their sensors," Solomon replied. "Besides, we're still working on that cloaking tech the Mechanicus sent our way, and we, I mean they, are still a long ways off from developing a good sensor-absorbing paint to coat an entire ship with. Even if we coated the boarding shuttles in the prototype stuff they… sent us, we'd still have to get close enough for them to have the range to reach the enemy ship, never mind head back if circumstances allow." He very well knew the Mechanicus had done no such thing, but he wasn't about to let the admiral's Adept know that. There'd be too many questions asked too soon, and he couldn't afford to risk himself, his crew, or his operation. So, for the time being, it'd be a lie, or at the very least, a lie of omission.

"What about teleportation?" Admiral Deiad said. "You could appear directly inside the bridge of the enemy ship, and deal with them as you see fit."

"Too risky, we could also wind up in the main reactor, or in the middle of the enemy mess hall, or even in the side of a bulkhead," Syngra replied. "I have seen and had to clean up more than my fair share of teleporting mishaps under Captain Ordacius. What about entering under the cover of a diversion?"

Solomon's ears perked up. "Explain," he said.

"Well, if several capable people, including yourself, captain, were able to infiltrate the ship under the guise of a collision with a small piece of space junk and work your way to the bridge, you could potentially find a way to disable enemy weapons platforms and make a large-scale boarding party viable," the Adept said simply. "Of course, you would then need to find a way to either disable their engines or take control of the ship itself, so that they don't, say, detonate any Warp drives or main reactors. We don't know exactly what design of ship this is, so for all we know, they don't have any Warp drives."

"That is very possible, I like it," Solomon replied. "However, how do we get inside? The former governor was known for trusting those with either technology or the means of acquiring more, and with my alliance to both Governor Delvidia and the new governor of Vaeria Primus, a mister… what was his name, again?"

"Urg," Urg said from behind the admiral, his ugly face twisted into what he might have thought was an expression of thoughtful concentration.

"What?" Solomon asked.

"I think it was Bhill Nie, is what Urg meant to say," the floating Graimlyne said. "My Ogrynish translators are very well kept, you know."

"Right, Bhill Nie, that governor guy. So, with my alliances and other deals with them, as well as other governors, it'll be hard to convince him I have anything to offer, even if I do go undercover somehow. We already gave him copies of a lot of things we either decoded, and although I'm not sure if he'll have any made for himself, there's no doubt he has his own stash of things somewhere on that ship. It took days for those riots to reach his personal quarters, only for them to find nothing, and him long gone. Who knows what he's hiding on that ship?"

"Then if there's any infiltrating going to be done, they'll need to prepare for anything," Prollarius said. "Captain Ordacius always dealt with problems in a quick but sensible manner. If there were problems here, we'd do this, and if this was the obstacle, here's how we'd get over it. He'd infiltrated more than a few places in his younger years, from what I heard, so getting a good amount of gear to be used whenever needed is paramount. Most of the lads in the barracks can't act or sneak for shite, so finding those who can play the part is just as important as when and where we'll strike."

"I think it should be me," Solomon said. "He likely won't recognize me if I get a good enough facemask and something to modify my voice. After that, it shouldn't be hard to whip up something else for me to wear that'll divert suspicion. But I'll need a partner in crime, so to speak, to help really seal the disguise."

"If the Admiral is willing to my convent stay behind until the mission is completed, I would like to volunteer," Prioress Absinthia said. "It is high time this traitor to the good name of the Imperium is brought to justice, and I should like to personally see it through."

"I have no problem with that, though your Sororitas may wish to stay behind on Mastuonus Primus in the meantime," the admiral replied. "That is, of course, unless you wish to join the assault. My own troops and I will have exited the system by then, as we recently received word of movements of traitor forces near Cadia. After meeting with several other fleets, we will be setting course for that system."

"Then stay behind they shall, there will be much healing needed for the peoples of Mastuonus Tertius after the warlord is put in his place," the prioress said. "His casual slaughter of the innocent will not go unpunished."

"Okay then, so the prioress and I will be undercover when we sneak on board," Solomon said. "As what, exactly?"

"Rich newlywed vacationers looking for the newest hotspot?"

Judging from the glare Absinthia threw in Krekka's direction, Solomon believed that was not a good idea for several very obvious reasons. "No, not that," he muttered. He tried his best to stay away from Krekka, whose interest in him had gone so far as for her to try and read his mind in his sleep, despite his locked and barred bedroom door.

"Two enterprising recruits?" the admiral suggested.

"That could work, but Orchus looks for recruits on worlds he's been to, so maybe as crew on the ship already? He'd be suspicious of any new recruits seeking him out," Prollarius said.

"That could work, though only two crew moving together would be a tad suspicious," Solomon countered. "There are likely a lot of people on that ship. We'd need at least a third or fourth person to round out this undercover boarding party, preferably those with a good deal of training or experience."

"I'll go, sir," said a voice. Looking behind him, the Rogue Trader found one of his guardsmen, Private Janeve Stell standing at attention. Next to her was Private Zita, who nodded as well. Both were well trained and had demonstrated the ability to follow orders and maintain a level head, as well as experience with fighting in close quarters with orks and daemons. They were perfect for the job, though they'd have to disguise themselves to help sell the act.

"Fine then, we have our four undercover operatives," Syngra said. "That is, if there are no objections?" The silence of the room was answer enough for the Adept. "Okay then, let us begin."

The plans were simple enough: try and find a way onto the ship, in disguise, and then disable the ship's means of fighting back or escape. However, the details were sketchy at best, and so, in the event they were uncovered before they could accomplish their task, Syngra brought up the suits she had been most recently working on, courtesy of her own ingenuity and some old plans for obsolete armor systems.

"How goes the neural interface setup?" Solomon asked from inside the _Terra's Scion_ workshop. The admiral and his forces were well on their way to exit the system, taking special care to avoid the regions where the rogue governor's ship had been seen, so as not to spook him. The world below was peaceful once more, though still healing from the Dark Eldar attack. The scars would eventually fade, and life find a normalcy once again, but with all the changes, new people, and new defense towers dotting the planet, life on Mastuonus Primus would never be quite the same again.

"Very nearly complete, it should respond to both the wearer's health and genetic signatures fully," Syngra replied, fiddling with the last bits of a series of wires, sensors, and what looked like a metal human frame. "That way, should the operator perish in battle, this suit will not respond to a new pilot unless it is recovered by us and undergoes the specific reprogramming procedures you and Prollarius developed."

"Good, so we won't have anyone stealing this and sending it right back in our face," the captain replied, glad to finally have some truly good news. " _Unless they become possessed or reanimated or something, then we're in deep shit_ ," he thought.

"These systems, which function as an exosuit, will allow a user to wield much greater strength than possible for their size, though not quite like that of, say, a space marine," the Adept continued. "However, unlike those bulkier armors, these will be sleeker, allowing for easier concealment under most clothes, though at the cost of severely reduced firepower. Yet, I'm still unsure how we are going to make form-fitting armor that will be able to stand up to more damage than the current wear the guardsmen have can deal with."

"We'll have to either hope to come across the plans for some or research it ourselves. Given the fact that we don't have a research team working on stuff like this, it'll be a while, I'm betting." Solomon paused, glancing over some of the laid out schematics. He would really have to get a team working for him and Syngra if they wanted to make progress technologically, but from where? The best and brightest from large or populous worlds were likely snapped up by the Administorum, Astra Militarum, or the Adeptus Mechanicus all the time, so he'd have to look for the best and brightest from small, out of the way worlds. "What about the prioress? It's going to be hard to convince her to wear one of these under her designated clothes." Zita and Janeve were already accustomed to new or experimental weapons, supplies and the like, but the prioress would likely not react well if they played their part poorly.

"Prioress Absinthia volunteered to be a part of our mission, so she will have to do as we say, within reason," Syngra replied. "If she will have any reservations on the matter, she will have to tell us up front. Either way, the plan will move forward."

"Agreed," Solomon said, before bringing over a large diagram. "Think we can fit one of these underbarrel lasguns in the sleeve?"

"Sir?" a voice called out, causing the pair to look over.

"Private Janeve, what can I do for you?"

"Sir, I found something in one of the holds deep in the _Terra's Scion_ , I think you should take a look at it," she replied, grunting as she lifted a large object onto the table. Upon closer inspection, Syngra made a startled beep.

"This is a holy weapon from thousands of years ago, wielded by a chapter of space marines that no longer exists," she said. "How in the world did you find it? Relics of chapters lost in battle are not easily misplaced, let alone found."

"I was looking through one of the vaults, and came across it," Janeve replied. "The former captain must have come across it and put away in secret."

"I really need to look through those vaults more, and sort them if possible, as I have no idea what is all in them," Solomon muttered, walking up to the object in question. It was a large, finely crafted storm bolter, unlike any he had ever seen before. Energy seemed to pulse in it, though the symbols carefully etched all over the surface were the same he had seen on ships, meant to ward off daemons and the other entities of the Warp. It was enormous, like one a space marine would yield, or what a guardsmen might mount on a side turret of a large tank.

Picking it up, though with some difficulty, Solomon took aim with it. Yes, for a man of his size, this would be nearly impossible to fight with, and given the recoil it surely possessed, he'd be knocked down every time he pulled the trigger. Mounting it on the topside of a tank, however, would definitely work in his favor. Or maybe several like it in the arm of a newly-created knight of his design? Oh, the possibilities…

"Sir, where would you like me to put this?" Janeve asked, startling the captain out of his thoughts. Her expression had not changed, but she sounded… relieved that he had picked it up.

"Oh, um, just put it somewhere here in the workshop," he replied, handing the large weapon off to her. "I might need it some time, it's both an impressive armament and possibly worth a fortune to the right Imperium official. Or maybe I'd trade it to a space marine chapter for something, I'm not sure yet."

With a nod, the trooper left.

"You would trade it away for something else?" Syngra asked.

"Why not? It's technically mine, to do with as I wish, and it's not like I can wield it," Solomon said with a shrug. "Besides, depending on how much they'd want it, we could get our hands on some really good weapons, or maybe even some blueprints. I mean, for a bunch of dead Dark Eldar, we got ourselves an old Knight battlesuit. For a holy relic of a dead chapter of space marines, we could probably get… I don't know, maybe a small ship design? It's about time we started building our forces other than just training more troops: we need tanks, artillery, titans, ships of all sizes, and a good deal of other stuff."

"Why do you say we?" Syngra asked. "You're the captain."

"Yes, but I'm just a small part of a much bigger picture," Solomon replied. "I mean, sure, I'd technically control a lot of that, but I'm not a tyrant. I need my men to know they can trust me to try and see them through a fight, and to do that, order and discipline must be maintained with trust. If I lose the trust of my men, no amount of commissar tactics or corporal punishments are going to be able to make up for that. Besides, I can't be the one to come up with all the ideas, or ways to make new things, or even to fight. I need advisors that I see as equals, not as subordinates who are afraid to speak their minds. If nobody bothers to tell me if or how I'm doing something wrong, then how am I supposed to learn from that, or improve?"

Syngra smiled. "Sorry, captain, I didn't mean anything by it. I just… that is fairly good viewpoint, I just didn't know that was much of an option. A captain's power comes from loyalty, whether perceived or actual, though I don't know what could happen if we managed to suffer a devastating loss of sorts."

"The crew's loyalty was tested at Woebus, and while it was strained, we emerged stronger for it," he replied. "With the fighting now at Mastuounus Primus, even with the losses at the hands of the Dark Eldar, the troops did not seem tested in their loyalty. Those that died did so doing their duty, and the survivors have been thanking me for interfering when I did. A lot of them had families on that world, and thanks to us, a lot of them survived."

Syngra nodded. "We should get back to work on the suits, it won't be long before we're set to head out."

"Right. Besides, now that my original troops are more battle hardened, they can become my elite guard, so to speak. They can help train newer recruits, and from there, train and learn to use our newer equipment for future fights. Speaking of which, about the sleeve lasgun…"

Much later…

"Are you sure this is wise?"

"What's the matter, prioress? Don't like cramped spaces?"

"Cramped spaces are a way of life for many of the Imperium's citizens, so it is a situation I do not mind. However, these outfits…"

"I told you, these suits will allow us to be stronger and more agile than normal, meaning we can carry heavier or more weapons underneath our disguises."

"Which reminds me, I hope I don't have to wear this metallic facemask much longer," Janeve said from her corner of the shuttle. "It's starting to itch underneath; I think I may be allergic to the adhesives."

"Don't worry, it's supposed to itch," Private Zita said. "We're coming up on the system, are the charges in place?"

The shuttle, outfitted with the most sensors, countermeasures and engines one could stuff on a small ship, was carrying a small amount of explosives in the area designated as a cargo bay. These, once the ship had passed through the sensors, were meant to destroy the ship after Solomon had cut his way into a bulkhead and found a way inside the former governor's ship, so that the enemy ship would simply believe it to be a piece of debris bouncing off the hull and detonating on the shields. From there, they would move around until they had found an objective, find a way to complete it, and then locate and subdue or disable the governor long enough for one of them to call in the _Terra's Scion_ , who would then swoop in and board. Thankfully most ships in the Imperium seemed to lack any kind of viewports, but then again, they _were_ weakpoints…

If they got lucky, the fight would be brief. If not… well, the former governor couldn't have _tha_ t many troops, right?

"We're coming into range of Mastuonus Tertius," Zita said, adjusting the number of hoses coming from her backpack to a respirator covering her lower face. "Sensors are picking up a large object in orbit over the planet."

"That is most likely the governor's ship, no other ships are set to be in the area," the prioress said. "Even now, he must be distributing arms in exchange for recruits. We can only hope we do not breach into an area where the Tertians are massed, they are fierce fighters in hand to hand combat."

"Yeah, plus we'd alert the entire ship if we had to fight our way up to the bridge," Solomon muttered, fiddling with the small lasgun hidden up his sleeve. Not as powerful as his main one, but a precise shot from this would put down an unarmored target as large as an ogryn. That, and the energy pack hidden along his arm would allow him more than just one shot. "We'll be there shortly, everyone get ready."

"Rebreather, in place," Private Zita said from her seat, the mask hanging loose from her mouth. "Ready to go for a spacewalk, Janeve?"

"Affirmative," she replied, fixing her own rebreather in place. The oxygen tanks on their backs would allow for a clean supply of oxygen, though only for a relatively short period of time. They'd have less than ten minutes before their supplies ran out, as their rebreathers were not going to be able to process enough oxygen if they were breathing too fast. "Prioress?"

"In place, awaiting the captain's signal," Absinthia said, just as the planet came into view. In the uppermost atmosphere, bathed in the light of the distant star of Mastuonus, lay the former governor's ship. A massive cylinder surrounded by the frame of a cruiser, the ship looked much like a large tube with countless pieces of scaffolding intertwining around the interior of it. The main bridge was perched high over the center of the ship, and from this point of view, there were engines on both ends, as well as fairly large main guns. More weapons protruded from the tops and bottoms, small and large alike, and though less heavily armed than the _Terra's Scion_ , it would undoubtedly pack a significant punch against any target it came up against.

"There she is," Solomon said, fixing his own rebreather in place as the ship rapidly grew larger in their viewport. "I'm going to go for the upper section, above the asteroid processing bay. With luck, and if there's any real design plan in place, that should be the main production decks for his shipboard armaments; minimal staff, low level of defenses, highly likely to lead to somewhere important."

"Sir, if I may-,"

"Quiet, Private Janeve, we're entering the outermost areas of their void shields," Solomon said, throwing several switches. The thrust behind them ceasing, the stealthy shuttle began a slow coasting motion towards the much larger ship, small engines placed in the front slowing it gradually so as to avoid an outright collision.

The shuttle rocked to and fro as it moved through the outermost defenses, buffeted by the strong shields of the much larger ship. A sharper angle or a faster speed, and the shuttle would likely be shattered like glass, so Solomon took care to fly as slowly and as straight as he could. That didn't stop him or his passengers from being rocked around in the shuttle's cockpit, though.

"I suggest you get that arm out of my side, trooper," Absinthia muttered.

"Only if you dislodge your foot from mine, ma'am," Private Zita replied. "Please."

"Quiet you two, and whoever's hand that is, remove it immediately," Solomon replied. "We're coming up on the ship's hull, and I need to be as focused as I can on making sure we don't crash."

Private Janeve made a confused coughing noise, but the hand soon retreated.

Slowly, with the shuttle's need to maneuver greatly reduced by the larger ship's relative immobility, Solomon pulled a switch, and four tethering cables shot out, their magnetic ends attaching themselves to a section of bulkhead. Seeing as automatic winches were something he'd need to invest in soon enough for any kind of boarding shuttles, he pulled on a hand operated one, slowly winding them in closer and closer towards the hull. Just as the very tip of the ship's nose touched the surface, he stopped and engaged to a lock to prevent the winch from unwinding on them.

"Okay everyone, time to get outside and get in that ship," Solomon said, fixing his rebreather and helmet fully in place. The other three did as well, taking care to ensure they remained secure. If not, then they would not last long in the vacuum of space, suffocating before even the cold could overtake them.

The four lined up as best they could, their outfits and gear rendering them a bit off balance. Twisting a large steel handle, Solomon felt the air of the shuttle leak out around them, pulling at them as it leeched out into space. Fully pushing the door open as the last of the air left the interior, Solomon stepped out and grabbed onto a series of handles on the side. Almost instantly, he felt completely weightless, the burdens of gravity in his shuttle no longer a problem.

"Come on, let's go," he said through his helmet's vox, before setting off. Gently pulling himself along, and giving a few good pushes with his feet, he crawled along the surface of the shuttle, the others soon following behind him. Maintaining a safe distance between themselves, the four found the cables, and slowly working their way down, found themselves against the hull of the larger ship.

Private Zita held up a scanner embedded in the armor on her wrist. "I'm detecting no life forms on the other side of this bulkhead, but scans show it is thicker than we first thought. Course of action?"

"We cut through and seal it off behind us with our extra supplies, though if it's just a small sealed room, we'll leave it for later and simply lock it off," Solomon said, before retrieving a large tool from behind him. "Everyone have their torches set?"

The others pulled similar devices from their packs and nodded.

"Good then, let's cut this open and get ourselves a ship."

Meanwhile…

"They should be boarding now," Syngra said, her readouts from the assault team's body suits showing positive signs across the board. "It will be a few hours before we are able to arrive and board once the signal is given, so speed must be essential. Prollarius, are the engines ready to run at full capacity?"

"Affirmative, ma'am, the engineering lads say they'll be ready to fire on your command," the man said. "The troops are ready and waiting to board as well. Think they'll come across heavy resistance?"

"We can only hope that will not be the case, but in the event of severe fighting, everyone is to use extreme prejudice against any and all targets," the techpriestess said simply. "This will be close quarters fighting, so the heavier weapons will not be available. Flamers and lasguns only, no grenades, and spreading yourselves out will be paramount. I don't want to have to replace more limbs than I absolutely must."

"Roger that. I'll be with the lads and lasses down in the main hangar bays."

Syngra sighed as the man left, a large weight settling in the pit of her stomach. The governor had told her to try and bring Solomon back safely, though when asked, Miss Delvidia had been rather vague in her response. Syngra knew the woman had taken a liking to Solomon, though was desperately trying keep it from controlling her actions too much. Solomon was an unusual man, hence why she herself liked him, tough clearly not in the same way. His difference brought him a greater knowledge and understanding of what he had to do, though much of what he said and believed could have, in the very recent past, been construed as heretical.

Yet, in being a Rogue Trader, Solomon was not under the same kind of scrutiny or principles forced onto other citizens of the Imperium, be it the Administorum, the Militarum, or even the Inquisition. With him in charge, she could fiddle and invent, design and innovate things she hadn't considered before. Despite all of her training and teachings, Syngra now knew she had always had a creative spark in her. Now, she knew pretty much anyone could have that same spark, and when things had settled down from this most recent engagement, and Solomon had returned with a mighty prize, the two of them could get to work on assembling a team of individuals that would aid them in their quest for developing and innovating.

Of course, it'd have to be rather secret, lest the rest of the Mechanicus find out. She'd be lucky if she were severely reprimanded and made to pay for her "heretek" crimes, or else she'd likely be lobotomized and turned into a servitor. Or just killed, along with the rest of her future team.

She didn't care. Solomon had inspired her to look at what it meant to be human. It was to strive for something greater, but tempered by wisdom, to innovate and create, but not always for one's self. No, what they would build, what they would create and find would be for the benefit of all the Imperium, and with it, they could help to usher humanity into a new era, and save it from the ever-encroaching darkness.

"But first, we need that ship, or at least the designs for it," Syngra muttered, fiddling with a large number of blueprints. She knew that trying to make their custom Knights more battle-ready and quicker would mean giving them a greater amount of mobility, but doing so would mean sacrificing armor and weapon systems. If they would still be able to deal with enemies on a regular basis, they'd need all three of those, and right now, none of their current weapons were powerful yet small enough to do the job.

They'd find some way, eventually. Maybe.

Meanwhile…

"How goes the training, Faelonius?"

The guardsmen-turned-commissar shook his head, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "These rookies better be glad we're not Krieg, or else most of them would be dead by now. Not sure why the captain is so dead set on training them with such a high tolerance for failure. We've gotta try and get the best outta these folks, we can only train them here on Talmanjir for so long before they gotta learn somewhere else."

Former Private Gallinius, now Captain Gallinius, veteran of both the Woebus and Mastuonus Primus conflicts, shook his head. He'd known Faelonius since he trained under the man many months before, and understood his need for perfection all too well. Solomon's orders, however, still stood. "He wants them loyal at the expense of taking a little longer to train. We'd get more out of a thousand well-trained troops than we would out of a hundred extremely trained troops, given what he's told us we're up against. Besides, with all this fancy tech we're training with, it'll be easier for the lads to fight on short notice."

"Good gear is no excuse for poor training," the commissar said.

"Yeah, well it does help," Gallinius replied. "Now then, about this new battlesuit design that just came down from the higher ups, you gonna have someone test it?"

"Yeah, I'm thinking we get some of the vets to try it out," Faelonius muttered. "You know, that group with the one guy that struck the captain in the mess hall?"

"You mean Sergeants Fellara and Farella, and that Private Catillo?"

"Sure, Catillo's really given himself over to helping the newer recruits after his breakdown back in the mess hall. He must have found his calling, now that Captain Solomon defended his own world with as much fervor as Woebus. Besides, he doesn't seem to mind the fog here like the others."

"Well, good luck getting him into a suit like that, chances are he'll trip in it and crush someone," Gallinius muttered. He'd seen how clumsy the man could be if he wasn't paying attention.

"Then everyone will give him a wide berth."

"Should I go fetch them?"

Commissar Faelonius nodded. "Bring me Fellara and Farella as well, the two of them have good heads on their shoulders and will make excellent test pilots. I want Catillo trained for the durability tests only, there's no way I'm letting him anywhere near a battle in one of those unless he's mastered it."

With a nod, the man marched off, just as another round of recruits jogged past. Most were sweating to beat the ban, some gasping for air. Captain Solomon had told him to build their endurance slowly but surely, just so that they'd be ready as could be when the time came for them to deploy. Wherever that would be, Faelonius did not know, but wherever it was, he'd likely not go. He'd lost a good deal of mobility in the fight for Mastuonus Primus, so he'd likely never again see the front lines.

It irked him that was the case for the time being, but Captain Solomon had told him that in the near future, that would likely no longer be the case. If they got hands on battlesuits that could allow crippled or older guardsmen to fight on the front lines once again, then he'd be the first in line to try one out. For now, the ones coming down to be tested were for the able-bodied only.

Another batch of recruits jogged by, probably from some civilized or agri world. The hivers really took well to the training, given that living in those hell-holes was always a fight just to survive. Most of these lads and lasses weren't as tough, and it showed. "Hurry up lads, I want to see you lot swing by five minutes sooner than last time, or it's fifty kilogram packs for the lot of you!"

Meanwhile…

"Have we found any others?" a voice asked. Was it Fengil, or one of the few remaining guards? It was hard to say, Teltyra's mind swam constantly in and out of consciousness.

"I do not know, we dare not send out any unnecessary patrols in case of attack," another voice said. "If there are any more out there, then they too are holed up, likely too wounded to seek us out. We only send out who we can to look for supplies, no more, no less."

"What of our vile cousins? Are they all dead?"

"There are still several unaccounted for, but most of their injuries must be at least as severe as our own, for them to avoid conflict," Teltyra muttered, her head laid in her daughter's lap. "They must be holed up in another part of the ship, much as we are."

"It's only a matter of time before more homeworld craft arrive to rescue us," the captain said. "Our distress beacon was received by at least two other craftworlds, and they have promised to send aid our way. We have no idea how long it will take them, this region of the mon'keigh Imperium is foreign even to us. Isolated, peaceful, and unwatched by the eyes of our enemies, the perfect place to hide something of great importance."

"Yet it is here, somehow, that was we search for is to be found," the Eldar seer replied, her daughter's small fingers gently pressing into her temple. The headaches from the last attack were less frequent now, but as painful as ever. Her blood loss was too great for a quick recovery, and if they ran out of food before help could arrive, then she would most likely perish along with everyone else. Their situation made her want to cry, but Teltyra knew she mustn't let herself fall. Her daughter Fengil, their remaining crew, and indeed perhaps their entire race depended on them finding this artifact. A connection to their creator mother, a means of once again speaking with the one who breathed life into them, was within their grasp.

It would take something of otherworldly strength to keep them from their task, an entity far more powerful than any mere mortal to make them relinquish their quest. The future, despite it's clarity towards finding this object, remained shrouded further on, and despite what the other seers and farseers had tried to discern, what would happen after their discovery and recovery of this important piece was still up in the air.

The headache returning because of the strain of both trying to stay awake and peer into the future, the Eldar seer's eyes closed once more, and she fell into a deep slumber.

Meanwhile…

"All set?"

"All welds behind us are in place, no air will vent once we fully breach the hull, and thus no alarms should be triggered," Private Janeve said, hefting her cutting torch. "Ready when you are, captain."

Solomon nodded as the rest of them moved into position. "Ready, set, cut!"

In a burst if light and heat, small filings of metal melted away, and with a resounding clang, a great circular slab fell beneath them and onto the floor of a passageway. The ship's air rushed up to them, their seals thankfully holding fast as the pressure stabilized and they too fell down onto the floor.

The prioress was immediately upon her feet, hidden weapons peeking out from under her sleeves as she surveyed the area. Private Zita was as well, facing the other way, her underslung lasgun at the ready. Loud noises could be heard, slightly muffled by an unknown source.

"Clear," the two of them said, as Solomon and Private Janeve rose to their feet. From the look of things, they had entered… a large storage closet of sorts, dimly lit by an overhead lamp. Dust and cobwebs hung from several defunct servitors, many of them showing signs of severe damage. Whether from accidents or riot survivors the governor had taken with him when he fled Vaeria Primus, it was hard to say. None seemed to be online, but then again, that was a good thing, or else one would likely be able to alert the whole ship to their sudden intrusion. As it would turn out, the muffled noises were coming from outside the door, though they sounded less like people walking by and more like machines.

"Okay everyone, be on the lookout, and try not to look suspicious," Solomon said as they all discarded their heavy space gear. "We need to be ready for whatever we find on the other side of this door and beyond. It shouldn't take us long to reach the bridge if we keep our heads down and don't attract attention from anyone."

"Easy for you to say, you were practicing this routine for a lot longer than any of us were allowed to, sir," Private Janeve said. "Or were you simply imitating Adept Syngra behind her back?"

"No, and hush," Solomon replied curtly. Gripping the handle of the door, which was strange considering this was a spaceship and door handles shouldn't be a thing, he opened it. A brighter light shone forth, and as one, the four moved out of the room, and into the light of a rather open area.

What they saw shocked them, particularly Solomon, to the core.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

In the bright lights of the ship's interior, amidst thousands upon thousands of moving machines, sat or stood countless, hunched forms. Small, nimble hands worked at countless conveyor belts, powered by other small forms, all working large levers, turning large wheels with their feet, or pulling long sections of rope. All around them, steam and energy crackled, and every once in a while, a bright red light would sweep past a section of them, moving in the distance. Many cried out at intervals, the higher pitch and accompanying crying an immediate clue as to their identity.

"By the Emperor," Prioress Absinthia said in a hushed tone.

"They're children," Solomon said, his eye twitching as he felt a hand on his shoulder. The governor must have stolen them away when he left Vaeria Primus, hence why the rioters had attacked his residence with so great a fervor. They weren't just trying to oust him from power, they were trying to retrieve their children. Their resulting anguish must have been unimaginable.

He knew this future was dark, but this… okay, now he was pissed off. Orchus wasn't going to come in alive, he was going to come in cut into pieces, and then those pieces were going to be ground into a fine powder, then baked into a cake, afterwards then covered in a frosting made from ork spores, and then force-fed down a Dark Eldar's putrid fu-

"Captain, we have an objective," Private Zita said, knowing well that look on his face, hence her hand on the man's shoulder. She'd seen that same look on Woebus and back on Mastuonus Primus. "We can come back for them later, they are being watched and we need to remain undetected."

Off in the distance, the red light grew closer, and the four of them pressed themselves behind a large stack of supplies. The crackle of an energy whip sounded, along with cries of pain and a large sound of grinding gears. A massive lumbering shape, what looked to be a cross between a servitor and a space marine, marched forward, a single red light shining from where the face would be. Strange symbols across its entire body, as well as unnatural energy coursing in fleshy-looking veins across its mechanical torso, made it seem completely otherworldly as it passed by. The smoke it belched, black as the darkness between stars, swirled ominously above, trailing behind it as it moved through rows of working children.

"By the Emperor, that is no ordinary machine," Absinthia whispered, one of her hands reaching towards her concealed weapon. "That is an engine daemonic, a body of metal with the barest hint of a human inside it, to provide a host for a dark spirit. I did not anticipate the governor having such foul creatures under his banner."

"I take it that is very bad," Solomon muttered, imagining the look on the former governor's face when he shoved his lasgun down the man's throat and fired it at full power. Well, he didn't have a throat, being a brain in a jar, but the thought still gave him some sense of satisfaction.

"Extremely," the prioress replied. "It does not seem that this one can possess other mechanical devices, but there are others that can corrupt or possess machines themselves, including mundane systems, weapons, armor, data streams and data storage devices. I take it the governor has not found a way to summon one of such nature yet, but we must hurry to the bridge, or else."

"Or else what?" Private Zita asked.

"Or else the whole ship could become possessed, and this whole mission will have been for nothing, and we might all end up dead, or worse," Private Janeve said. "Come on, let's go, we'll come back for the children later, I promise."

Sad to think there actually were things worse than death in this future. "Do you think they're children from Vaeria Primus?" he asked as they scuttled off, passing through a large archway and coming across a large map. Turned out there were in the main production deck, and the bridge would not be a long journey, if they hurried.

"Undoubtedly yes, though most children on such forge worlds work in similar conditions," Absinthia replied. "Although with no possessed machinery, as that would be against the Emperor's laws."

"Wait, what? _That's_ what children do on forge worlds?" Who in their right damned mind put children to work when their mental maturity would be more of a detriment than their feeble little hands would be as a boost for production?

"Yes, it increases production by several percentage points, regardless of the additional rise in deaths and maiming incidents."

"What in all the hells that exist does this Imperium stand for?" Solomon asked, his level of rage steadily increasing the more he found out about this dark future he now lived in. "Slavery? Child labor force? Technological stagnation? What's next, child soldiers? Sacrificial altars, incest and cannibalism?"

"On some world child soldiers are a necessity, and I have heard the AdMech do re-utilize the corpses of fellow fallen guardsmen for nutrition," Private Janeve said. "Oh, and incest is quite common in many of the lowermost hives, hence a high number of mutants in need of near constant purge across the Imperium. Countless psykers are also sacrificed to the Emperor on the Golden Throne to keep the Astronomicon alight to allow faster and safer travel between star systems."

"You speak as if you have not seen much of the galaxy, captain," Absinthia replied as the four moved on, taking care to not speak whenever they passed something that looked unusual.

"I haven't seen any of this before, and now I know I don't ever want to again, if I can help it," the Rogue Trader replied. "Come on, let's get to the bridge, I want to shunt that damned governor out of the airlock and on a direct course for the nearest star."

"For his clear association with engines daemonic and his subsequently traitorous actions?"

"No, I mean, well, yes, but for all this other stuff," he muttered. "An enslaved child labor force, daemonically-possessed machines, causing civil and planetary unrest, and owning a ship I desperately want the plans to, or if possible, the whole thing itself. That, and distributing arms to the highest bidder, which in this case is a genocidal warlord."

"Speaking of which, how will you deal with him?" Private Zita said as the four of them passed a large series of tunnels, all of which seemed to be filled with bursts of steam. Whatever lay down there was likely very hot and being operated by crew, likely daemonic ones.

"I intend to fight him for control of the planet, and return it to a state of peace," Solomon said. "Whether it is through war or diplomacy, I will try to stop him. If I can do so without fighting, then so much the better." He knew that would likely not be the case, but it didn't hurt to hope for something like that.

"Even after all he has done, you would still wish to try and diplomatically resolve this? What is wrong with you?" the prioress asked, her stare like that of someone wishing they had a flamer at their side.

"What is wrong with me? Why is diplomacy such a big no-no with you?" he retorted. "Get some people talking, and maybe we'll be able to come up with a solution that doesn't leave a world in ashes and millions of humans dead over a few simple grievances. I mean, come on, wars have been fought over stupid shit since mankind has first started out. Can we try and be diplomatic at least a few times these days? It's a waste of human life to be fighting one another when we could be uniting against a galaxy that wants us really, really dead."

"Infighting is the way of our species, as it is with any species that achieves sapience," Private Janeve replied as they passed a large servitor. Given how the electrical wires seemed disconnected, but the thing moved with an eerie glow, it too was likely possessed or at least corrupted. "It helps the strong rise above and rule the weak."

"Yeah, well, if there are too many weak, then they can overthrow the strong, yet still break apart and squabble amongst themselves, weak as ever. The strong do not exist to rule the weak, they exist to help them to rise again and again, until none are weak, and humanity has one unified, strong front against the horrors of the galaxy. The Emperor realized this, yet nobody seems to remember or care." The more Solomon read on the Emperor, the more horrified and intrigued he was on the man himself, be it what he had sacrificed, what he had accomplished, or what had been lost when he was interred on the Golden Throne.

Solomon was sure that, if not for that asswipe Horus and his Heresy, the Imperium would be so safe, so secure, and so strong, that the galaxy would be an almost incomparably safer place for humanity as a whole. Ten thousand years of stagnation and decay had followed, and now, with enemies on all sides, humanity had fallen far from its potential yet again.

As the four moved through the corridors, they found no evidence of daemonic corruption within the ship itself, according to the prioress. To this, Solomon was extremely thankful, for if the ship itself were corrupted, then he'd have to destroy it, rather than potentially let it corrupt himself, his troops, or whatever weapons or ships he'd build with it. The longer they took to reach the bridge, however, the greater chance there was for the governor to summon a daemonic presence strong enough to corrupt the ship's systems, or maybe even the designs for it, should they be stored in a codex of sorts.

He couldn't let that happen. Too much was hanging on this plan for it to just all fall apart. It was then he thumbed his vox and sent a burst of code to his ship. Known only to the four of them and Syngra, it was the signal to swoop in and board. Even with the engines at full power, he had no clue how long they would take to reach him.

Rounding a corner, Solomon found himself face to face with what looked to be a solid wall of men brandishing fierce weapons away from them, the sounds of rowdy fighting coming from up ahead. Stopping instantly, and instinctively bringing up his weapon arm, he felt one hand grab his shoulder, and the other his forearm, keeping them in place.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot," Prioress Absinthia whispered fiercely, motioning with her head towards the forms. "They haven't seen us yet, and if we're careful, we can sneak by."

"What's going on?" he whispered back. The others were in front, and he didn't want to try and move past them, lest he find himself in the middle of something he didn't want to be in.

"They are most likely conducting a brawl, both for sport and to keep themselves trained," the prioress replied. "Oftentimes worlds of a simpler sort will have tests of strength, endurance and cunning to prove which warriors are the best. It seems these troops are no different."

"I bet they'd make great recruits if it weren't for the fact they work for an Adept who is willing to summon daemons to live inside machines," Private Janeve whispered. "Come on, let's get moving before-,"

There was a great shout, and a form flew up and over the crowd, landing at the feet of the four. Heads turned in their direction as the form on the ground grunted, blood leaking from several different cuts along his upper arms. Without effort, one large hand pulled a fairly sizable razor blade from an open wound, flicking it away without flinching.

"Oy, Thrakken, whose yer friends?" one of them asked. "They gonna join in now thatcha got yer ass handed to ya by Yarvald?"

"I don't know," the man said as he got up, his intimidating burly figure making the four back up slightly. A heavily broken face, and tattoos running up and down his body, made it fairly evident this was a man with years of fighting experience, and the scars to back up that assumption. "Looks like nobody the gov'na had on board a few days ago. New recruits?"

"Nah, he ain't been near one of them fancy mech worlds since he left his own," another said, more and more advancing towards the four. "What we got here might be stowaways, I reckon, from when he was buildin' this big old hunk o' tin. Whaddaya think we should do with 'em?"

"I say we test their mettle," one of the Tertians said.

"What if we bring 'em to the labor pits and put 'em to good use?" another asked. "Them kids is too weak fer liftin' the heavier stuff."

"I say we… run!" Solomon shouted, firing his sleeve-gun into the center mass of the large Thrakken fellow. In an instant, a burning hole formed, blood and meat chunks exploding everywhere as the man went sailing backwards into his cohorts. Shouts of outrage and howls of battle followed as the four no-longer-hidden infiltrators ran as fast as they could down a different corridor, the sounds of dozens of angry Tertians following close behind. Shots from energy weapons whizzed past their heads, scorching bits of corridor wall and sending chunks of metal into the air.

"Turn here, scanner shows we're getting close to the bridge!" Private Zita shouted, before she tossed a small grenade behind them. A loud bang and a flash of light later, along with several howls, meant the Tertians had bumbled right into the powerful flashbang. However, that did not stop them from sending several more blasts of energy in their direction, some gouging large chunks out of the metal wall as they rounded a corner and dove through a doorway.

Immediately, Prioress Absinthia and Solomon tossed whatever they could in front of the door as soon as they shut it, from a few cabinets to a very large servitor, much of it in pieces from what was likely an earlier accident. Immediately, there was pounding and shouting from the other side of the door, but for the moment, it looked like it would hold out. When the Tertians decided to try cutting through, or worst, blasting their way through, then things would become very difficult, very fast.

"Where in the blazes are we now?" Janeve asked. "Our detour took us closer, yes, but now we're lost."

"Looks to me like we found our way to the governor's private chambers," Zita replied. The others looked up to see a vast collection of tables surrounding a large number of workstations, and a single sleeping unit, which looked more like a pile of electrified bedsprings than where someone would sleep. Papers and mechanical bits littered every surface, some of which looked either very old or fairly recently made, and many of the sheets detailed what looked like countless facets of technology. From many of the walls hung mechanical tapestries, showcasing the construction of machine parts, or homages to the Machine God, many of which were fairly detailed.

"There are plans everywhere," Solomon said, wanting very much to seize all he saw before him like a Blood Angel suffering from an especially severe case of kleptomania. Well, except for a fairly lewd picture of a servitor "caressing" a toaster: that would be tossed into an incinerator immediately after the ship was his. "There's no telling what we could find here."

"Look as quick as you can, but we have to go," Absinthia said as she shoved a larger dresser against the growing pile of debris. "There's no telling if or how many of these documents could be corrupted by the governor's madness, and if the Tertians decide to blow their way in here, there's no holding them off for long. Your astropath will be the only one who will be able to tell which are safe and which must be destroyed."

"Zita, Janeve, grab what you think will help us, I'll look for this ship's plans," the Rogue Trader replied, opening his pack and stuffing in a large piece of paper detailing an automatic loading system. "We'll have to sort through them later with Pontius; I'm not having any tainted plans under my ownership."

Nodding, the two began to shuffle through as many papers, codices and inscribed metal sheets as they could. Some were clearly not going to leave with them, especially a large tapestry showcasing a very sophisticated means of creating a rapid-fire plasma autocannon. Many plans were written on paper, thankfully, but there was no way of telling if there were corrupted or not, and if they didn't hurry, it stood to reason they would become more and more corrupted as time went on.

It greatly saddened Solomon to know that all of these plans might have to be destroyed if they turned out to be tainted. Some of them, especially the one detailing a bomb designed to reseed forests on war ravaged or desolate worlds, would be very handy in the future. Others, such as a new means of creating highly sophisticated light bulbs that were indistinguishable from others and cost three times the resources to make… not so much.

There was a large thud from the other side of the room, just as Absinthia grabbed a few plans as well. "We have to move, _now_ ," she said, retrieving one of the weapons hidden in her pack. "They are going to break through, that was a small explosive, and the next likely won't be."

Solomon nodded as he stuffed a paper showcasing turret mechanics. "Okay then, you heard her, let's move out! We have to get to the bridge!"

As soon as he said that, there was a large thump from the other side of the barricaded door, and a small piece of the piled barricade went flying through the air, narrowly missing Private Zita. It was time to go.

The four hurried as fast as they could, Solomon stopping just long enough to grab a plan showing the schematics of the ship itself, hung above the bed of the governor. This was what he needed more than anything, just in case. Yet, as he ran and barricaded the next door behind him, the others far ahead, he felt this ship would still be his. The governor had summoned minor daemons, yes, but if that was all he'd done so far, then there was little chance he'd be successful in summoning something worse.

He looked down as his vox, feeling it vibrate. The code for an affirmation; Syngra and his ship were on their way, likely scrambling to prepare the troops for their first boarding mission.

"Sir, we've reached the bridge, but there's something you need to see," Private Zita muttered as he rejoined them.

"What now?" Solomon asked as the four peered in through a doorframe. "Oh… Jesus Christ."

The governor was there all right, but… this was not the same man he had met all that time ago, when he had first visited Vaeria Primus. The machine had grown all around whatever remnants of man were left, twisted and pulsing with strange and likely horrid energy. Wires and mechandrites trailed and moved around him like the seaweed in heavy surf, constantly fiddling and caressing countless buttons and switches. A large mass of metal constructs were surrounded by a massive field of energy, directly in the center of the ship's bridge, with Orcha Orchus somehow controlling all of the ship's functions at once.

"Must keep working, striving towards better, yes," he said to himself, more than loud enough to hear. "Sacrifices made for the sake or progress, yes, they will understand, they will see to light, the truth." He paused, a horrid metallic laugh echoing from his body. "They who doubted me, they will pay, they will see I was right, that I was always in the right."

"He's gone mental," Private Zita said softly, raising her weapons.

"The governor's more than that, he's gone full-blown traitor and is possibly possessed," Absinthia whispered back, her own at the ready. "We must seek to destroy him now, before he can complete whatever summoning he is attempting.

"Okay then, we move to surprise him, hopefully he hasn't heard us," Solomon muttered as he drew his own weapons and the four of them stepped out of the doorway and a fair distance behind the governor.

"Ah, Captain Solomon, I have been expecting you," the governor said suddenly, loud enough for them to easily hear.

"Shit."

"What do you think of my work? Fascinating, is it not?" A manufactured face seemed to extend from the mass of metal and wires, supported on a snakelike tentacle that twisted and turned around. Crafted from a shimmering metal, it mostly hid the brain within the jar behind it, but said brain seemed it was being enhanced by continually-pulsing energy. Much of it looked dead or very well on its way to being so, the color very much off, yet it seemed larger than before, in a very inconsistent manner, with some parts more swollen than others. "In my time aboard my ship, I have received knowledge thought long lost to the rest of man. By communing with the one who knows all, I have discovered secrets technologies other Adepts could only dream of."

"I'll… I'll bet," Solomon said, not dropping his weapon. "I like your ship." The one who knows all? Who was that, Tzeentch? Great…

"Nice, is it not? I'll admit, the plans were fairly difficult to procure," Orcha said as several mechandrites caressed the glowing pile of constructs, shivering in seemingly rapturous ecstasy as energy coursed over his form. "A massive mobile factory, able to process raw materials into weapons, vehicles, and even starships very quickly, and with the utmost efficiency, given a supply of labor; a great boon to the Imperium, should they ever get around to making one."

"Then what's with all the daemonic shit?"

"I had to turn to others to find knowledge unknown, as my resources became very… limited after being driven from Vaeria Primus," Orcha hissed, the color of the energy coursing over him flickering in color for a moment. "However, my loss has become my triumph, and soon, I shall have access to all the technological wonders the galaxy has ever seen."

"By summoning a daemon to seize control of this ship, and produce whatever it wants with those assembly lines and slaves?" Prioress Absinthia asked.

"Indeed, Sororitas," the insane adept replied. "However, there is one small quandary I must rectify before doing so."

"Turning back from your madness, giving me this ship as my own, and coming in quietly?" Solomon thought it was at least worth a shot.

"No, no, though I do appreciate at least one other would covet a ship such as this," was the governor's reply. "No, for my ritual to be complete, there must be a sacrifice. The Tertians follow me, but do so blindly, but they are wary meatbags, and stay away from my work at all times, especially now. How fitting, then, that four willing sacrifices so blindly stumble into my midst, just as I need them. It must be the will of the Machine God."

The metal wires and mechandrites seemed to come alive around him, moving in sinister serpentine patterns. "You will make excellent specimens." With that, his many limbs shot forward, as several others pushed him up from the floor, and in their direction.

"Move!"

With that shout, Solomon and the others dove away in different directions, just as three mechandrites, far larger than any should be, slammed into the floor where they had been, their pincers grasping at empty air. If not for their exosuits, they might have been crushed, or pulled into the mad adept's clutches.

"Shoot him, bring him down before he can summon a daemon!" Prioress Absinthia said, firing with expert marksmanship with one hand while pirouetting past a swipe from a long tendril. "If he succeeds, then this ship and all aboard it are lost!"

"You heard her, fire!" Solomon said, sending a blast from his sleeve lasgun as the others retrieved weapons from underneath their disguises. Tearing his cloak from around him, Solomon was forced to sidestep a jab from one of the long tendrils, which was shot from afar by Private Janeve.

"You are merely resisting the inevitable," the governor said, tendrils shielding his inner workings from wayward fire as he danced and launched around the bridge. "It is pointless, the sacrifice will be made, and then my ship, alongside myself, will ascend to a higher plane."

"You wish," Private Zita said, peeking out from behind a corner and firing her bolter pistol. "The only place you'll be going is a scrapyard."

"Sacrilege," Orchus mechanically spat, twisting and turning around consoles to try and grab his attackers. "Such words bring me great discomfort, you would do well to not mention them." The movements of the former governor were like that of a squid, rapidly thrashing and twirling about to try and grab onto his prey. Few shots from their weapons seemed to connect, and those that did only scratched the surface.

"Yeah, well, what are you going to do about it?" Janeve Stell asked as she threw a flashbang directly into the mass of metal.

One spinning tendril effortlessly caught the device and threw it back, just as she and Solomon crossed paths. The resulting blinding light and noise drove Solomon to the ground, with the guardswoman tripping over him and rolling under a line of consoles. Zita ran forward to help, but was caught in the midsection by a flailing tendril and went flying into a far wall, where she lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

In an instant, Orchus was upon Solomon, and with the ease one might lift a small child, the tendrils wrapped around his waist and lifted him high into the air, just as his senses began to return. "You are a most fascinating individual, captain," the mass of metal said, lifting him up and closer towards the strangely glowing constructs. "I am sure one as old as you will undoubtedly be quite a worthy sacrifice."

"As old as me?" Solomon asked, trying to pry apart the tendrils holding him in place. No such luck.

"Did you really believe I would not have figured it out? The moment I met you, I knew there was something _different_ about you, and now I know, thanks to my allies," Orchus said with a chilling emphasis on "different" as he held the struggling captain aloft. "Now, all that you have struggled to accomplish, will be for naught. The entire Imperium would have hunted you for your entire life, should they have found out your origins, all for differing reasons. But alas, they will not get the chance."

As Solomon was moved closer and closer towards the strange metal, he pointed his lasgun arm towards the governor, but a tendril lashed forth and grasped it, moving it up and out of the way just as the blast shot forth, scorching a hole in a portion of a nearby wall. He tried punching the metal with his other fist, but it was to no avail.

"Forget about me, heretic?" Immediately afterwards, a large explosion tore into the back of the crazed governor, sending him tumbling forward. The grip on his arm suddenly loosened as the Adept struggled for balance, Solomon took aim and fired directly into the central mass. The resulting blast made the flailing mechandrites fly wildly around, and the ones holding onto him sent him flying into the far bulkhead, landing not far from Private Zita, who was just beginning to stir.

Prioress Absinthia smiled as she thumbed another small grenade, before tossing it into the cluster of metal. The explosion sent it further off-kilter, until the governor collapsed onto his own pulsing pile of constructs. Energies swirled around the Adept, much of his metal peeling away and into the pile itself.

"Thank you for saving us, prioress," Private Janeve said as she crawled out from under her hiding spot, whereupon she fired her weapon into the governor's disintegrating form, sending several metallic chunks flying into the air. The governor groaned in agony, just as another portion of his form fell off, pieces ofmolten slag being all that remained from where he had been shot nearly point blank by Solomon.

"It was my duty as a servant of the Emperor to do so," the woman replied. "Now then, Solomon, do you think this ship is still worth saving?"

"It could be," Solomon said, rising to his feet. "We'll need it cleansed, and likely covered in runes, but I think it can be. Now, for the children down in the factories, we need to get them out of here."

There was a beep on the vox, and looking down, he smiled when he saw the notification. "Syngra, are you out there?"

"Indeed, captain," was the reply. "Is the ship secure? Shall I send in the troops?"

"Looks like we'll need to clear out the Tertians, but yes, I believe it is," he replied. "Looks like we did it, how's about we-,"

"No."

The four looked over to see the brain of the governor, cracked and leaking fluid, course with energy. All around him, the metal constructs that made up his altar seemed to be growing smaller, along with the rest of him, but the chilling tone in his refusal made Solomon take a step back.

"No?" he asked. "You are beaten, Orchus."

"I said there had to be a sacrifice," the governor said, his remaining mechandrites curling tighter onto the sacrificial altar. "It seems, Captain Solomon, there will be one."

With that, he collapsed, and from the energy coursing over his frame, a faint image began to rise: feathers, a wickedly-sharp beak, and talons razor sharp. A laugh could be heard, even as the body of Orcha Orchus was consumed by the fiery energy and form.

"Run!" Prioress Absinthia shouted.

Nobody needed to be told twice. Thumbing his vox as he ran out of the room, Solomon shouted to Syngra. "Start shooting the bridge! All weapons target the bridge of the ship!"

"What? Why?" came Syngra's reply.

"Just do it, the governor has summoned something and we can't let its influence spread," he explained as he rounded a corner, running as fast as his legs would let him. Up ahead, Zita, Absinthia and Janeve were running as well, their forms rounding corners just a few seconds before he could catch up with them.

"Solomon, I am sending a shuttle to the nearest hangar bay, I want you out of there!" There was a beep, and an indicator showed up on his wrist scanner, indicating the direction he should head.

"No, we must save this ship! There are children on board, we must save them as well!"

"We'll get them too, right now I need you safe! This whole thing hinges on you!"

Rounding a corner, just as he felt a sense of dread from behind him, Solomon found a trio of Tertians lying on the floor. One, a leg missing, was trying to crawl away from another with a missing head, and the other lay slumped on the ground. Up ahead, Prioress Absinthia smashed her way through a doorway, and looking back, motioned for Solomon to follow.

Glancing back, Solomon saw something that nearly stopped his heart. Lances of energy mixed with flesh, both unholy in color, were quickly crawling along the walls, ceiling, and floor of the corridors, corrupting all that they touched. Running, he glanced back again to see the energy swirl over the living Tertian, who just managed to let forth a scream as the following fleshy mass consumed him.

"Holy _shit_ ," he muttered under his ragged breath, sprinting along quick enough to catch up to the others. "Did you see that?"

"Yes, and I don't want that to happen to us!" the Prioress said as they rounded another corner. Farther down the hall, past some debris, lay an open door, to which the hangar bay lay. "The corruption of this summoned daemon is far stronger than I expected, we must evacuate immediately or risk losing ourselves as well!"

Reaching the hangar, Solomon skidded to a halt with the others just as a rumble seemed to make the entire ship shudder. All around the far edges, energy and fleshy tendrils burst forth from vents and corridors, moving with ill intent towards the four. A blast from high above, however, sent some of the corruption scattering or backing off, and with a roar of engines, a shuttle came swirling down into the hangar's lower decks, the ramp opening for the former infiltrators.

"Get in!" a voice shouted, a guardsmen waving them over.

"Prollarius, there are children on board, we can't just leave them here!" Solomon shouted, partially turning away. If he had to carry each and every one of them out, by himself, he would, dammit.

"Captain, we have to go!"

"I can't just leave them to this fate!" Another rumble, louder this time, shook the ship. Syngra must have been directing the gunners to target more than just the bridge. Good, she could contain the infection, they could isolate and destroy the corruption.

"No, you leave first!"

"Jesus Christ Prollarius, I am not leaving this ship until I have every single one of those damned children out of this hunk of metal! Do you fu-,"

There was a sudden sharp pain in the back of his head, and Solomon felt the world go black all around him.

* * *

When Solomon awoke, he realized wasn't on board the ship anymore. No, he was in his own room, on his base on the moon of Talmanjir, in his underclothes and a fairly soft bed. A trio of figures looked at him from the shadows, expectantly, as if he were going to tell them something important.

"What's going on? Why am I in here?" he asked, sitting up, only to immediately regret it and lie back down. Holy shit, the back of his head was _killing_ him. What had happened?

"Solomon, the prioress subdued you when you refused to leave the ship," Syngra said, stepping forward, her mechandrites wringing themselves in a nervous manner. "She hit you in the back of the head with her weapon. She is with her convent out among the troops."

"Son of a… ow, that hurt," he muttered, rubbing what was surely going to become a fairly large bruise. "What about the others?"

"Privates Zita and Janeve returned to their regular duties after you arrived on planet, though they insisted they watch over you until you were in bed," Prollarius replied, motioning to the third figure. "They likely figured that if you awoke too early, you might attempt something rash."

"In addition, you were not tainted by the corruption sweeping through the ship, and the prioress and both guardswomen are clean as well," Pontius said, his shrouded face carrying the air of someone who had very nearly fainted. "I have yet to check the plans that were brought back, but they have been isolated and placed under heavy, continually-rotating guard until then. However…"

"The same could not be said for anyone else who would have been on that ship," Syngra said simply. "We were forced to destroy it, out of self-preservation, when it began to fire both on us and on Mastuonus Tertius itself. Thankfully the damage to both the _Terra's Scion_ and the planet were minor, but the same could not be said for mobile factory ship. The engines must have overloaded somehow, for the explosion vaporized it completely."

"What? It… it's gone?"

"Indeed so, you can see its remains from here," Prollarius added.

Looking out of the window, Solomon could see a bright light in the sky, just above that of the outline of Mastuonus Tertius in the sky. It glowed an eerie green, though it seemed to be fading even as he watched it. Soon enough, though, that energy would dissipate, and there would be little evidence to its existence "It's… it's completely destroyed?"

"Yes, we could not afford to let its corruption infect the moon or the planet below. I am sorry, I know how much you wanted that ship for yourself."

"What about the children on board? All the children from Vaeria Primus? Are you telling me they are all dead as well?"

"Every single soul on that ship, whether it was a daemonic engine, a child from Vaeria Primus, former governor Orcha Orchus, or the Tertian soldiers… they are all gone, captain," Prollarius said. "There could be no rescue for any of them, and the contamination could not be stopped. We did what we had to do, both for us to survive, and for your work to continue."

Solomon was silent for several minutes, the shock beginning to abate just long enough for him to process what had transpired. Soon after, he sighed. "Get out."

"What?" Pontius asked.

"Please, leave me alone."

Syngra took a few steps forward. "Solomon, I do not-,"

"I said get out!" he shouted, tossing the nearest object, which happened to be his chronometer, at them. It shattered against the stone wall, missing them clearly, but the message remained the same. "Get out, go about your business as you normally would. I will see you when I do, no earlier, and I am not to be disturbed, you hear me? Now, leave me in peace!"

Wordlessly, the three looked at one another and slowly nodded their heads, filing out silently. Syngra took one last look back at the captain, his enraged expression unchanged as she shook her head and left.

Solomon's anger collapsed as her placed his face in his hands, sobs coming forth too strongly for him to hold them back. All that work, all that planning, all he had struggled for… all those children, their lives lost, lives he should have been able to save… how had it all come to this? Had he been led astray in believing he could actually make a difference? Was this a test by fate, to see if he would break under such a failure? Or was this just what this future was, a terribly dark and depressing place so grim and dark that only the insane would seem normal?

Was he himself insane now, for trying to believe he could actually try and change what was? Or was he the only sane person left in a galaxy gone mad?

Silently, he continued to sob, the system's star continuing its trek across the sky as he lay in his bed, anguished, and so very, very alone.

 **A/N: well… that happened. Sorry for the bit of a wait for this chapter, it took a little longer than I expected just because life tends to get in the way, and I wanted to go over a few things with a few proofreaders, both for this chapter and for future ones. Rest assured, this story has a long way to go, and I will strive to make it as good for you, my faithful readers, as I can.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

Solomon did not emerge from his room until well into the morning of the next day, his eyes dry from crying and his mind a wreck. The words of Adam and Eve the night before had been of little help to him, mostly encouraging words to try and pick up his spirits or to inform him of things he did not yet know of. It hadn't worked terribly well, but he had appreciated the fact they had tried, as well as now knowing several things he hadn't beforehand.

He felt truly awful. This was the biggest setback he'd suffered yet in this journey. Here he had been preparing to seize the ship and use it to rapidly build up his forces, as well as his influence, yet now it lay scattered in many small pieces above Mastuonus Tertius, drifting through space or burning up upon entry into the planet's atmosphere. All the lives lost on board, and all the plans he could have used… the senselessness of it all just astounded him. It was all his fault for thinking he could try and do things on his own.

How could he have gotten so careless? This future was dark and grim, entirely so, and here he'd been acting almost nonchalant in his attempts to try and fix it. Sure, he'd made attempts at least, but those were exactly that; attempts. He hadn't pushed hard enough, tried as best he could, or gone above and beyond what was asked of him. Despite the words of Adam and Eve, he knew now he was a man trying to fight a mountain, and right now, the mountain was winning without even trying. He had to push harder, fight harder, break boundaries and mold what he could into a fighting force that could make a real difference.

Millions upon millions died across the Imperium, let alone the galaxy, every single day. Planets were lost to Chaos, rebellions, xenos, or untold celestial phenomena, oftentimes long before any help could arrive. How could he have thought he could change any of this by himself? The voices in his head had told him he would need allies, and while he had a few, his resources and power base were still very limited.

"Time to change that," he muttered, setting off towards the manufactorum built beneath the fortress. "No more games, no more waiting around, no more sitting idly by and trying to expand without real effort while the galaxy continues to suffer. I have the allies and whatever I've built so far to begin with; troops, resources, bases, influence, and a ship. Now, I need to use that at every available opportunity." His spirits, brought so low so shortly before, rose like a phoenix from the ashes of his setback. Now, the flames of war and purpose burned within him, brighter than ever. He would have to fight to advance, suffer losses to make gains, and push back against the encroaching darkness harder than he ever had before. It was time to fight for all of mankind, and do so without second thought.

He swept past a pair of guards, whose salute he curtly returned. Deep inside the complex, there lay a furnace, one whose power was great enough to disintegrate even the strongest available materials. This was where Syngra and Pontius had gathered to dispose of any and all corrupted plans and documents they had recovered, as per his orders. A few holy relics were nearby, including the one Private Janeve had found, just in case.

Syngra's form was hunched over a few plans spread out on a table, her mechandrites rolling and unrolling several different ones as Pontius sat over in the corner, in some form of meditation.

The Adept looked up as Solomon swept past several large disassembled conveyor belts. "Captain, I see you are feeling better."

"Better than I was, but not as well as I should be," he replied. "Syngra, tell me, has Pontius determined which plans are good, and which must be disposed of?"

"He has, Solomon. So far a few have been saved, but quite a few others have already been destroyed," she said. "Many of the plans contained in codices were corrupted beyond recovery or worth, so they were destroyed in the incinerator, which we have covered in holy runes, just to be safe. However, one such codex was not, and although there were no plans of a military nature, I did find several bits of information you would undoubtedly find interesting."

"Oh?"

"It seems to me the governor's scanners have picked up a few errant planets not on any star charts, their secrecy likely being they were cut off by warp storms long ago, and nobody bothering to look into them once the storms had abated," Syngra replied. "According to the documents we have, he was going to scout these out for resources and the like, but was unable to mount expeditions before he was driven from Vaeria Primus. Afterwards, his writings indicate he decided it wasn't worth the expenditure."

"So we have a few planets nobody else knows of that we can go to and scout out; sounds good to me," Solomon said. With a bit of luck, they could contain practically anything of value, be it resources, lost sects of humanity, or even valuable archaeotech. Or they could contain hostile xenos, or worse; that much was also true. Damn, this galaxy really sucked sometimes. "By the way, Syngra, I'm… I'm sorry for what I said the other day."

"I understand, captain, such a decision to simply leave behind child laborers would not have been easy for most others who think as you do." She paused for a moment, before letting out a soft sigh. "It pains me as well that it had to be done, but your survival and your work are more important. In the future, we'll plan accordingly, just in case something like this happens again."

"Thank you for understanding," Solomon said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Now then, what about these other points of interest you found on the codex?"

"There's a fairly complicated collection on higher capacity batteries and other energy storage devices, based off of studies of the power pack for the standard lasgun. With a little tweaking, we could double the amount of power available for not only weapons, but engineering systems, vehicles, and even any battlesuits we come up with."

"Sounds good to me, we can focus on that immediately. I need a better power supply for our suits, we're supposed to test them in battle soon enough. Is there anything else?"

"Other than designs for a fast resource transport shuttle and details on shipments from Mastuonus Secundus, there are a few little odds and ends here or there."

"Better than nothing, I was hoping at least one of the codices would be functional and uncorrupted. What about the other plans and things we nabbed?"

Syngra shrugged. "There's not much to go through from what we didn't have to destroy, but we did manage to salvage the plans to the asteroid processor, so it wasn't a total loss."

"The ship designs?"

"No, no, the design for the interior of the ship was salvageable, the ship itself was not. We'll have to build our own ship around the processor, but thankfully, it can be towed until then."

"Then we'll tow it once we build it, and move on from there," Solomon said, breathing a sigh of relief. Despite the setback, they at least now had the means of processing asteroids into useable materials. However, he'd still need to find a way to then process that into useable weapons, vehicles, armor, or even ships. "How big can we build the processor?"

"As large as needed, though obviously it'll take much more structural changes the larger it gets, with room needed for storage, the mining arms, and sleeping quarters for the operators. Whoever lives on these things will likely be away from normal sunlight for extended periods of time, much longer if we're operating the machinery as much as possible."

"What about then turning those materials into things we need? It's good we'd be able to process the nearly limitless asteroids that seem to exist out there, but then we'll have to transport that, and I'm not making children turn this stuff into weapons."

"With some tinkering of my own, we won't need to," Syngra said happily. "Depending on the size of the processor, we can designate them to focus on certain items. Smaller processors will work best for weapons, with larger ones for vehicles, and the absolute largest ones for ships and the like. Given the number of tools we'll be able to fit on them, we could even disassemble old ships or derelicts and repurpose them for our needs."

"Incredible. Now, about those other plans we salvaged…"

One Week Later…

Warlord Mardak Kurst did not like being disappointed. Yet, here he was, with many of his troops on loan gone without any sort of reason, and the shipments from his otherworldly ally gone. Here he'd thought he'd unite the planet under his own rule with the help of that metal man, but now it seemed that was not how it would be.

No matter. He had plenty more men, more than enough weapons, and soon, with several other tribes more than likely about to pledge their support after he threatened them, he'd be able to realize his dream. He'd let none stand in his way before, and he wasn't about to. The world's vast wilderness, mostly untamed and relatively unspoiled, was his for the taking. With it, he'd be able to build his planet into an empire, from which he could conquer other worlds within the system. Who cared how many died? So long as he paid tribute to the Imperium, for the time being, he'd be more or less left to his own devices.

"Sir!"

He turned from his war table; one of the scouts had returned. "What is it?"

"A buncha shuttles just landed off in tha distance, no sign of our men or shipments from that gov'na fella."

"Invaders?" Word on the grapevine from his captives had been that a local starship captain was going to stop him. Their assertions had cost them their heads.

"I reckon so, sir. Shall I rally the men?"

"Yes, I'll lead them myself," Kurst said simply, tapping his long-bloodied sword slung at his waist. "Maybe now I can get a good look at this "Captain Solomon" all these idiots have been going on about."

"Sir!" another scout shouted, rushing into the war room. "The enemy is headed this way, under the cover of a large smokescreen. They have machinery with them, we can hear it, but the smoke is making it difficult to see."

"Then it looks like we've got a real fight on our hands!" the grizzled warlord said, a cruel smile gracing his face. "Get the lads up and at 'em, we've got us a fight!"

As soon as he stepped outside, Kurst could see the white cloud crest over a hill, and approaching at a rather rapid pace. Whatever was generating that much cover had to be well worth capturing, both for its strategic value and for cowing others into submission. He'd be able to beat a space captain, and maybe then seize his ship as well!

"All right lads, get ready!" he shouted as hundreds of men scrambled everywhere, their weapons primed and ready for a fight. "When they close enough, I want everyone to open fire!" Men far ahead were setting themselves up on a series of small walls, made for strategic firing lines and defenses against any enemies. Most were crack shots, but then again, on Mastuonus Tertius, one had to be to survive in the wilds. Most of his troops were veterans, either from inter-tribal warfare or from fighting under his command, so Kurst believed he was more than ready to do battle that day.

A sudden burst of speed from the smoke cloud rapidly decreased the distance between itself and the warlord's encampment, and without warning, it descended upon the outermost fortifications, enveloping them completely.

Within seconds, there were bloodcurdling screams coming from the smoke. Kurst couldn't believe how loud they were, seeing as his men knew only cries of war, not terror and pain. The smokescreen continued its path towards the camp, more screams following as more and more of his forward fighters disappeared into the thick white film.

"Fire!" he shouted, his troops unleashing a massive volley of withering fire into the approaching cloud. Screams continued, and just as it had sped up, without warning, the cloud ceased moving forward. Forms ran out from the cloud, waving their arms as they ran as fast as they could. Blood dripping from their bodies, the ones in the back screamed as large metal fingers wrapped around their torsos and pulled them back into the fog, where the wailing and grinding of gears and metal could be heard with gusto.

Before Kurst could contemplate what he had just seen, lumbering forms burst from the white smoke, the roar of their engines audible over the sudden barrage they let loose. Titanic forms, several times taller than a man and belching smoke, rushed forward, propelled by pairs of powerful legs. The upper chassis, looking as solid as mountains, carried with them pairs of mounted turrets on their shoulders, which roared to life as bolter rounds spewed forth with gusto. Massive weapons lay strapped to their sides, weapons more suited for the turret on a tank or defense tower. The large arms, powerful and robust, ended in large hands, capable of crushing men within their grasps.

Judging from the gobs of blood flying from them as they ran towards Kurst and his men, they already were.

"Fire! Everyone fire!" was all Kurst could command as the lumbering behemoths surged forward, more and more emerging from the fog like monsters of myth. All around, bolter rounds smashed into defenses, buildings, and troops alike, sending all manner of dirt, debris, and body parts into the air in equal measure. Kurst himself, never one to be a coward, did a very cowardly thing by his standards: he dove to the ground in a small trench, just as bolter rounds raked the ground where he had been moments before.

Peeking up from his shelter, he could only watch as the metal monsters swatted, crushed, or shot everything in their path. His own men's weapons, tried and true, seemed to barely knick their forms as they surged through the crowds to troops. Everywhere, men fell back, running as fast as they could, but the metal behemoths in the back of the group flanked outwards, drew their weapons and fired them with deadly accuracy. Lasgun rounds, more than he could count and brighter than a noon sun, flashed throughout the battlefield from each mech, scorching and exploding everything they touched.

Kurst could barely hear his own thoughts over the sound of battle and the screams of his dying soldiers. He had to get out, escape this nightmare. He would regroup, and strike from the savannahs, as he had before. Defense was never his strong suit, only attack, and ambushes at that. Yes, he would study this opponent, find its weakness, and strike until they could not stand his fury. He would show them, this minor setback could be overcome soon enough, and when-

He felt himself suddenly pulled from his foxhole, his torso soon wrapped in a large metal fist. Uselessly he tried prying the metal fingers apart, their tight grip far too solid to defeat with mere hands.

"Looks like we meet at last, warlord of Mastuonus Tertius," a voice said from the metal behemoth. His weapons on the ground beneath him, Kurst could only watch as several large metal sheets slid away to reveal a man, his hands fingering a pair of controls.

"Who are you?" the warlord asked, the din of screams and weapons fire fading in the distance as whatever remaining troops of his tried to flee.

"I am Captain Solomon of the _Terra's Scion_ , and these are my Crimson Mechs," he replied. "I can't say I know your name, though."

"My name is Marnak Kurst, you meddlesome bastard, and I do not see how these machines are crimson." The large behemoths, walking around and crushing any survivors, didn't seem very red.

"Nice to meet you too, and yes, they are called crimson for their forms will be stained red with the blood of the enemies of mankind, whether they are human, xenos, or worse," Solomon replied. "Now then, warlord, what have you to say for your crimes?"

"Crimes?" Kurst asked, rage swelling inside him. How dare this outsider! "My only crime is not being prepared for your attack, filthy off-worlder! Your interference will cost you dearly! I will find those who are dear to you and make them suffer!"

"Well, no, that's not it, and there's actually a fairly long list of your crimes, but I'll break it down for you, Mr. Kurst, in the simplest terms I can," Solomon said calmly. "Civil war, genocide, and killing humans loyal to the Imperium and the Man Emperor; those are your crimes, and your punishment has been decided."

"What is that?"

"This." Suddenly, the shiny metal plates slid back into place, and the massive hand gripping him tossed Mardak Kurst to the ground. Before he could recover, the warlord heard a pair of heavy footfalls, and looking up, saw a massive metal foot appear above him. Before he could scream, it came down with tremendous force, squashing him flat and ending his reign of terror in a sideways spurt of blood and ichor. All around, all he had built on the blood of innocent Imperium citizens crumbled, his forces dead or scattering to the four winds. Soon enough, he would be forgotten, a mere footnote in history, and life would return to normal on this world.

Well, that last part wasn't entirely true. Solomon knew warriors from this world made excellent soldiers, and as such felt that keeping an eye on it would be necessary to not only prevent more scum like the warlord from rising again, but to also recruit people and resources to his cause. These wide open savannah areas were ideal for stealth training and for testing new equipment. So, a permanent base would have to be set up here, preferably a more defensible one than this place had been.

Solomon looked out over all the destruction, but despite his pain at the loss of human life, he felt no remorse for killing these savages. They sought unity through death, and had paid the price for their bloodlust. Good thing too, or else, according to what Adam had told him in his head, Khorne worshippers might have popped up soon enough. He'd keep an eye out in his own ranks for such corruption, there was no telling what might make someone snap and join Chaos at the drop of a hat.

"Everyone, eliminate any survivors you find, then head back to the shuttles," Solomon said, his vox broadcasting to all his Crimson Mechs. "We're leaving."

Several Months Later…

It had been a relatively peaceful period in the sector since the demise of the warlord on Mas Tertius, as Solomon now called it, and things were beginning to look up. More and more of his own troops were finishing their training, and his forces now numbered many times more than what he had originally started with, with garrisons now spread across Vaeria Primus, Mas Primus and Tertius, and his own moon base. Many of the parents of the children who died on the forsaken ship had thanked him for trying, and while some did not trust him, the fact his troops were supporting the governor they had put in power was a good relations boost. Meanwhile, the veterans of Woebus, Mas Primus and now Mas Tertius were doing splendidly as instructors, weapons testers and overall elite guards. It was a given that they were likely nothing compared to what the Imperium called its "elite" guardsmen, but it was a good enough start for Solomon.

The prototype Crimson Mechs had fared better than he had anticipated, and after several more trial runs, the third phase had been rolled off of his assembly lines. He now had two variants, one dedicated to providing anti vehicle support for advancing infantry, and another dedicated to blasting enemy aircraft out of the sky with missile pods and flak cannons. He had considered a model dedicated strictly to anti infantry, but realized that most enemies of man were tough enough to nearly warrant themselves under a vehicle classification, so he opted out of that. Besides, any infantry he'd face would be taken care of by his own soldiers, and if needed, the anti-vehicle mechs.

Of course, he now needed better transports, atmospheric assault craft and bombers, missile defense and attack systems, and quick means of constructing bases whenever he conducted attacks. Prefabricated bases would work nicely, but he needed the means of deploying them accurately enough to avoid squashing anything important, like his troops or a city or something. All of that was just for ground support, he still needed to nearly completely retrofit his ship with autoloaders and more accurate turrets.

He also really needed to find people to start a research and development team. Just coming up with and developing his own ideas, as well as Syngra's and whoever else they had, was getting harder and harder. Fresh ideas and maybe some fresh tech would advance his cause at a considerably greater speed. Of course, he'd then have to make sure they weren't corrupted, or didn't become so.

Solomon sighed. There was so much more to do. Now, the biggest thing was going to one of the nearby systems to pick up a few more components for his asteroid processors. The smallest ones were very nearly built, but they lacked in certain portions they could not yet manufacture, and as luck so happened, a nearby system, the Inxi system, had ships that could attach themselves to the processors and thus provide what they themselves could not produce.

Of course, making a deal to allow for this was going to take some serious pull, as the people of Inxi Secundus did not trust anyone from the Mechanicus, and with his connections through Syngra and now Graimlyne, any meeting would likely not go very smoothly. That was why, as Solomon looked at himself in the mirror, he fretted over the position of his tie on his fine suit. It had taken a long time to set this meeting up with Delvidia Warmak, what with all of his work now, and for the life of him, he still wasn't sure why the governor had agreed to meet him. He still didn't know why he was already planetside and getting ready in her own mansion; he would have thought for sure she'd want to set it up for a later date.

"She likes you, and you are her ally," Syngra told him as she helped him pick out a good ceremonial sidearm, easily reading the emotions crossing over his face. Well, the sidearm looked the part, but it really was fully functional, just in case something _else_ happened this time. "Besides, she did seem to be looking forward to seeing you again after these past few months. You sort of withdrew from her company after we failed to acquire the mad governor's ship."

"I needed some time to think, and I didn't want to hurt her with all the baggage I was carrying," Solomon replied. Those had been some rough days not too long ago. How he'd manage to rebound as much as he had was amazing, though that was likely mostly thanks to his supportive crew and the two voices in his head. "Besides, it's only the second date, and this one is asking for a favor more than the other one, so I don't anticipate it being too hard, barring some sort of invasion again."

"I am sure," Syngra said simply. "Now then, do you remember the bet from last time? I would suggest nothing to you tonight, other than what you feel is right, but… it would be in your best interests to not let your personal feelings get in the way of business. It would do no good trying to force something and find yourself without an ally."

"Is this my Adept talking in a professional sense, or my friend and confidante warning me on affairs of the heart?"

"I'd say it's more along the lines of "watching out for my captain", though making sure you and the governor stay allies is a big bonus," Syngra said with a shrug. "Where exactly are you set to be?"

"We're going for a stroll through her gardens this time, where some light food will be waiting for us," he said. "It'll be nice, the flowers are blooming late this year, but I've been told they are beautiful." He took a step back, looking himself over. "Well, how do I look?"

"Very nice, sir," the Adept said. "Now, go and have a good time, and be sure not to forget about why you are here." She paused. "Oh, and try not to be invaded again."

"Hey, like I said before, that wasn't my fault," he muttered, smiling despite his apparent indignation. With a quick nod of thanks, he turned and strolled out of the room, the large doors opening for him as he moved on.

The dressing room quickly transitioned into a long corridor, where, down on the far end, stood the governor, a silky silver dress matching a fairly exquisite headpiece and diamond earrings.

"Good evening," the captain said as he approached. He still felt out of his element, but hey, this was a simple walk and talk about business, nothing more, right? "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank you," Delvidia said. "I'd say you look dashing, but between the two of us, you always do."

Solomon blinked. "Why, thank you." He offered her his arm, which she quickly accepted. "Shall we begin?"

"Certainly," she replied, as the doors to the garden opened. "Now, what business is there to attend to?"

"Well, for starters, how goes the rebuilding?" he asked as the pair walked through the flower-laden trellis and moved throughout the garden. Here and there, flowers of bright gold and scarlet bloomed amidst columns of softly-accentuated azure flowerets, their scents wafting over the gentle breeze that permeated the area. High above, what counted for songbirds on this world flittered to and fro, their bright colors blending fairly well with the flowers they dwelt amongst.

"Very well, things are starting to get back to normal, though with a few twists here or there," Delvidia said. "The Administratum is sending an overseer of sorts to ensure things have been properly rebuilt, and that quotas will be met for next the next tithe."

"Everything?" His updated and improved farming equipment came to mind.

"Yes, but fret not, they are an easily bribed sort of bureaucrat, and anything that ruffles their feathers is likely to be swept aside, unless it is of a matter most important. Besides, within a short time, your machines will be on every agriworld within a dozen sectors in every direction, and before long, further still. It will be a very profitable venture, I'd imagine, for smaller forge worlds to churn these out as best they could."

"I agree," Solomon replied as the pair ducked under a small archway, vines with pink flowers wrapping gently around the stone structure. "Anything else?"

"The Crenon women are settling in nicely, though it becomes a bit troublesome whenever they and the Sororitas stationed here disagree on something. It comes to blows every time, and though we've had no deaths, unless they come to terms with each other, there will be problems."

"Well, I should hope not, their Prioress is stationed on my ship, and although I rarely see her whenever I do an inspection, I am sure she is keeping an eye on me. I always get the feeling I'm being watched, even though I know none of my retinue would be threatened or bought to serve her for such a reason. Then again, maybe I'm just imagining things, and she's off with her cohort, doing… space nun things, I guess."

"I should think so, many Sororitas, despite their fairly religious upbrining, can vary wildly from very social to extreme recluses. Now then, what about you? What has happened since the fight over Mastuonus Tertius?"

"You know, huh?"

Delvidia Warmak nodded. "Indeed, and I am sorry to hear what you had to go through to reach that ship, the dangers you faced aboard, and what you had to sacrifice. In a fair and just galaxy, those children would never have been put in a position like that."

"Yet they were, and I couldn't save them," Solomon said with a solemn nod. "However, I am feeling better than I was, but I still have a ways to go."

"I see. What else?"

"That warlord on Tertius is dead, and his forces scattered or destroyed, by yours truly, in fact."

"Oh?" she said, raising a well-maintained eyebrow. "I heard he was vanquished by a horde of machines."

"Piloted by myself and some of my guardsmen," Solomon said with a smile. "We're developing a new line of battle machines for heavier firepower needs, though their agility comes at the cost. They can't travel as far as other vehicles on the same amount of fuel, though with the improvements we've been striving for, we'll certainly be able to change that for the better."

"What are these machines called?"

"Heavy Imperium Crimson Mechs, or just Crimson Mechs for short. They'll be my heavier shock and support troops, seeing as I don't have a chapter of space marines to call on."

"I like it, the named brings to mind weapons designed to smash through enemy forces, much like a hammer of sorts."

"Well, they did that well, and we'll have to see how they do in the future. Other than that, whatever plans that have been salvaged that weren't tainted are being decoded and put to good use right now. A way away from here there is a few systems the former governor discovered, but never went to. In fact, I believe nobody has been to them in a long time, or might not have even known they were there."

"Will you seek them out?"

"In a while, right now I have other things to attend to. Some of my troops have been itching for a fight, but right now, I still need to train them. Have you heard any reports of nearby planets in distress? I've been keeping my astropath Pontius busy with other matters."

"Well, nothing too unusual, though there's talk of a rebellion over on Starth Tertius. They usually have revolts every once in a while, but this time it sounds serious."

"Then if matters get worse, I'll stop by, the newer troops need some real combat to cut their teeth on," Solomon said. "Isn't that the same system where the penal world is the hunting ground for the knight world nearby?"

"Yes, Starth Secundus is a penal planet, whereas Starth Primus is home to a fairly good collection of technology and well-educated young royals. I'm guessing it would be a good place to recruit some new blood to help your Adept, as well as pilot machines. They have this fascination with machines of war, but then again, being raised to fight all the time must be a part of that."

"I'll have to stop by there too, sounds like a good place to recruit pilots for some of my Crimson Mechs." He'd told Delvidia before that Syngra was always working and probably needed help none of his other troops could provide, so this information was doubly helpful. "Other than a rebellion and a good recruiting ground, I'm not sure many worlds nearby would benefit from me stopping by, unless they need my help."

"Well, maybe you could do something about Bob."

"Bob? There's a planet named Bob?"

"Yes, Bob is a very beautiful world, renowned for its tranquility and serene landscapes. That's why it's considered a paradise world. I'd like to visit there sometime with you, to take a vacation, but only if our workloads aren't too crazy at the time."

"Sounds like a plan," Solomon said, passing a series of stone busts, many of them surprisingly detailed despite their apparent age. "Tell me more."

As the sun in the sky traveled in its graceful arc closer and closer towards the horizon, the pair walked, talked, ate food from trays carried by quiet servants, and occasionally laughed about matters of the state, their personal ambitions, the last time they had seen each other, and the goings-on in the Imperium. A lot had happened back on Terra and elsewhere in the galaxy, including incursions towards the Eye of Terror, the rebuilding or reformation of space marine chapters, some crusade a ways off, the disbanding of zealots and reformations aplenty.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, and a slight chill filled the air, Solomon looked over at Delvidia, whose gaze seemed firmly locked onto his own.

"I had a wonderful time," he said. "I'm glad I met you, Miss Warmak. If not for our alliance, I don't know where I'd be right now."

"Probably off on some crazy adventure instead of building up what you have and making an actual difference," she replied. "Captain, tell me, what is it like?"

"What do you mean?"

"To devote so much of your time and energy to something more than yourself. I live my life as a governor, but you… you're seeing worlds, fighting battles that don't affect you, and willing to go the extra mile for people whom you will never meet, let alone lay eyes on. How do you do it? Why do you do it?"

"I've given that some thought myself," he replied. "This Imperium is the best hope humanity has for surviving in this grim galaxy, and though it may start small, anything I can change, that I can influence, that I can hope to improve on, will have lasting impacts far longer than I'll live. Somebody's got to try and fix things, and it might as well start with me."

She smiled. "I always knew there was more to you than just a pretty face and a fancy title."

With that, she pulled him close, and kissed him, the final rays of the sun cascading over them as a cool breeze flittered through the garden.

 **A/N: there, a much less angsty chapter, and now one of my personal favorites, if only because I get to plan things out without making it too in-depth, and because I like this story. I hope you enjoyed it, and don't you worry, the next chapter will be a big one, if not in length, but definitely in importance. Let me know what you thought, and until next time, For the Emperor!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

"Syngra, how soon until the ship has pulled the processors into position?" Solomon asked.

"Within an hour, this is a delicate maneuvering procedure, and the engines are having a hard enough time throttling while also maintaining enough speed to dodge any larger asteroids," the adept replied. "The gunners have been fairly adept at shooting the smaller ones away from us, but the larger ones are simply too large for their courses to be radically changed with simple weapons fire."

"Don't I know it," Solomon muttered. "Damn things are a danger to anyone not paying attention; Delvidia mentioned they were fairly hazardous." It had been only a few short weeks since he had last visited with the good governor, and even now, the kiss of Delvidia Warmak lingered on his lips like a spice. He was glad their arrangements had borne fruit, more than either had likely thought possible, and given how they had started out, things were progressing nicely. He was still a bit wary of her, though more out her earlier warnings. Discontent on Mastuonus Primus had made her public appearances less frequent, while his own legend had grown. She had, thankfully, taken such a development in stride, but given how many wealthy people on the planet had lost relatives to the Dark Eldar raid, it stood to reason that being careful was the governor's best chance at stability.

In the meantime, Solomon's own strides towards real results had begun to bear fruit as well. He now had several small processors, as well as a larger one, all built and assembled in pieces within the smaller starship construction module he'd gotten from Governor Orchus before the Adept had gone completely bonkers. Syngra and he still had to try and come up with some form of ship to attach to it to make it more self-sufficient, but in the meantime, the skeleton crew needed to pilot it through asteroids and process them into materials and goods was thankfully minimal and fairly efficient. Food and other resources would be needed to be shuttled out to them every few weeks, of course, but none of them were complaining on what amounted to time off from "real" work.

Interested in the goings-on in nearby systems, the captain had taken a jaunt through several. At one, he visited a graveyard world, where graves of countless dead Imperials lay lined across vast tracts of land. The scope was still hard for him to understand, but he knew such things were likely common in other areas of the galaxy. On another world, in a sector not too far away, he was petitioned for aide from a fairly detestable man running a world known as Starth Tertius. There was a rebellion there, and to get some more battle experience against both guerilla fighters and urban environments, Solomon had dedicated a good portion of his available forces to the mix.

After joining, said rebellion, which had lasted for months, had taken only two full weeks to help put down as peacefully as possible after the initial bloodshed, though Solomon had discovered the planetary governor's corruption had been more than enough cause for such a revolt. Not chaotic, thankfully, but his excesses had bled the planet's formerly-prosperous facilities to the breaking point. So, in the end, Solomon decided to do a fairly underhanded thing, and removed the corrupt man in a coup under the guise of a second revolt. With a man loyal to the planet's people and a trustworthy ally now at the top of the proverbial food chain, and the backing of the people behind him, Solomon knew he would soon have a steady supply of recruits and whatever supplies the planet could offer, once things settled down again. Rebuilding would likely take a few years, but he was confident his efforts would bear fruit out before then.

A quick jaunt over then to Starth Primus had been fairly rewarding as well. Several bright minds, many of them young nobles who were too far down the family line to inherit anything, had been more than willing to sign on with a dashing Rogue Trader captain promising adventure, glory, and service to the betterment of the Imperium, and were now working with Syngra in her new science "division" in an old storeroom onboard his ship. Several had brought along heirlooms, old family Knights that hadn't been used in likely centuries. Their design differed enough from the one Solomon had gotten from the admiral that he planned on retrofitting them as soon as he could. They had great ranged attacks with their missile pods and gatling turrets, but their inability to engage in melee gave him cause for concern. Maybe he could develop a heavier version of them, where _they_ would then be the heavy support for the Crimson Mechs?

He knew he really needed to invest in some heavy tanks. Not all terrain would be conducive to walking machines. Sometimes, you just needed a good set of wheels or treads to get the job done, and a good, solid cannon to deliver an explosive payload straight into the enemy's jugular.

"Captain, the final orbits have been put into place, and the processors are ready," Syngra said, snapping him out of his reverie. "The crews on board are giving the all clear, everything is running smoothly."

"Very well then, have them release and retract the tow cables," he replied. "We can do some exploring after they get started, I've been meaning to look around these asteroid belts for resources or space hulks or something."

As Syngra chimed in over the vox systems, Solomon wondered if anything was out there for his processors to worry about. There hadn't been any reports of anything suspicious or dangerous within several sectors, and right now his ships looked more like floating garbage than any real target. Besides, the living quarters of the ship were so small, any attempt at boarding would likely end with them being unable to find a way in. Eventually, they'd need crews of their own to defend it, but that would be when the ship portions had been built. Right now, he needed resources to build other things, and maybe after that he'd finally get some superstructures going.

"Cables are released and retracting, and the processors are in position, ready to begin their harvesting," Syngra said. "What now, captain?"

"I want scans along the fields from these sectors to this one," he replied, pointing to a large map of the Mastuonus system. "There might be things out here we don't know about yet, and I'd like to find out about them if they exist."

"Very well, scans initiating," the adept said, her mechandrites fiddling with many knobs, buttons and levers in the bridge of the _Terra's Scion_. "It will likely take some time for the more accurate ones to be completed, there are many objects floating out there."

"Very well then. In the meantime, set course for the nearest asteroid cluster, I want to see how far away from the processor crews we can be before we can no longer reliably communicate with them."

Meanwhile…

Pain wracked her body as she walked around the bridge, her muscles begging her to sit down and just give up. Yet, Teltyra refused to do so, knowing that if she gave up, she would die. Her daughter, sickened by lack of food, lay over on a pile of clothing, the best makeshift bed they could come up with given the circumstances.

The captain was dead, as were the majority of the other original survivors. Their enhanced metabolic rate was a curse in survival situations like these. Some had chosen to starve to death rather than fall to despicable cannibalism, whereas a few had gone out to try and find more supplies, knowing full well there were none outside what little the bridge had left. They had not returned, their lives likely snuffed out by the single dark cousin that roamed the corsair's interior like a phantom. Whoever it was, it had not chosen to attack the bridge yet, but the darkness shrouded its movements, for unlike Teltyra, her daughter, and a pair of remaining Banshees, it could see very well in perfect darkness.

The lights on the bridge were likely the only thing keeping it from coming in and slaughtering them where they lay.

The Seer's mind was as weary as her body. She had constantly reached out, maintaining even the slimmest grasp on her self-control, seeking out where the artifact was. It had grown closer and farther in equal measure, moving in odd patterns and staying in certain areas for indeterminate lengths of time. Yet now, as she reached out for it, for what she felt might be the last time, she detected something… strange.

Its presence was getting stronger. It was no more powerful than it had been before, but it was getting clearer and clearer to her just where it was.

Her narrow eyes widened in shock. It was approaching her, coming closer and closer, like a beacon of light in a sea of darkness. It wasn't just moving in a general direction towards them, it was moving _directly_ towards her.

"Please," she whispered, falling to her knees as her strength continued to leave her. "Please, Isha, help us." Teltyra crawled over to her daughter's bedside, intertwining her fingers with the younger Eldar's own. The artifact was so close, she could feel it. Her concentration slipping, the lack of food making her dizzy, the Eldar Seer collapsed by her daughter's bedside, just as a light shone on the bridge from the outside, illuminating the outermost portions of the Eldar ship hull.

Meanwhile…

"Sir! We're picking up several anomalies right inside the asteroid field," Syngra said, bringing up a large picture on a screen. "They appear to be artificial, scans indicate they are drifting amongst a large amount of debris. We will have to move closer to get a clearer picture."

"Then take us in, but carefully, I want to see this for myself," Solomon replied.

As the _Terra's Scion_ grew closer, and the images began to become sharper, the entire bridge crew, the captain included, let out a gasp. The small ships that floated through the vacuum of space were of the exact type that had landed so long ago on Mastuonus Primus and carried off countless civilians. In the distance, a pair of much larger shapes floated, one the mother ship these smaller ones had flown to. However, the other… it was unlike any of the other ships, and judging from the scarring and damage sustained, it was definitely not a ship of the Dark Eldar fleet. Where the Dark Eldar ships were dark, imposing, and fairly devilish-looking, this ship seemed almost sculpted, like some kind of work of art.

"Who is this now?" Solomon asked, looking over at Syngra, who seemed just as stunned as the rest of them.

"I have no idea, sir, but all of these ships show remarkably high amounts of damage. There must have been a great battle here, but judging from the spread of the debris fields, it must have happened a while ago."

"Scan for signs of life, there might still be civilians on those Dark Eldar ships."

Syngra fiddled with several buttons as the ship grew closer, the smaller derelicts bouncing off of the void shields and careening off deeper into the asteroid fields. "Scans indicate no signs of life on any of the Dark Eldar ships, be they the smaller craft or the large one," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. "Shall I have boarding teams assembled to scope them out?"

"No, blast the smaller ones, and leave the large one for now," Solomon said. "Remember the amount of traps we found on the other ships? That big one has to have a lot more, I'm not risking lives for tech we have no understanding of. If the Mechanicus wants any of this, then we'll let them know where it is, and leave it to them. What about that other ship?"

"Scanning… scans indicate several life forms aboard, in what appears to be the bridge, though they seem to be weak," she replied. "Shall I send boarding teams to investigate?"

"You know what? I will lead them on this one, though stand by in case things go bad," he said. "Prep the shuttles. Where is the nearest opening we can infiltrate through?" Given the amount of damage and holes in the ship, picking just one wouldn't be easy.

"Scans show a hangar bay of sorts, but there's too much debris in the way. There's a large hole near the bridge, but scans show it's fully lost any and all oxygen. There would be a good place to start, though you'd need to try and seal it off and pump in something to breath."

"We can equip the larger shuttles with what we need. Signal the troops, we're moving in as soon as possible."

Later…

From deep within the darkened ship, a form stirred as the entire craft lurched slightly. Something had attached itself to the corsair, and was likely going to be releasing troops into its interior. The ship was doomed, as was the one the wych had left behind, but given the lack of waaagh noises, or the distinct lack of any kind of dark psychic presence, she felt that the newcomers were mon'keigh in origin.

The young wych smiled to herself in the dark. She might have lost her compatriots and original means of travel, but now she had a means of escaping this doomed ship and whatever doomed souls that still resided within it. Curiously, she sensed a powerful entity board the ship, the likes of which whose soul must have been very different than the others with it. It would make for an interesting meal, no doubt. Still, she was fairly outnumbered, and in a weakened condition, so for the time being she would hide, waiting, hoping for her chance to strike.

Meanwhile…

"This place is strange," Solomon muttered through his comms as he and his troops moved through the ship. Much of the corridors were far taller than what would be fit for a human, and given the strange runes and lettering he found, as well as piles of fairly emaciated corpses and the occasional set of unusual armor, saying this ship belonged to an alien race would have been stating the obvious. "Syngra, is any of this coming in clear?"

"Very much so," she replied, her voice coming through a large portable vox carried by a pair of soldiers. "Much of the ship's atmosphere seems to have leaked out, so I fear that if you want to progress further into the ship to find those signs of life, you'll have to patch it up along the way. Given the amount of damage I'm seeing, explosive decompression remains an issue in the more outlying portions."

"What if our metal sheeting won't weld to the ship's materials?" one of the guardsmen asked.

"Then you'll just have to seal it was best you can with whatever we have," Solomon replied. "Come now, we're moving to the bridge, whatever fought the Dark Eldar in this ship might still be alive in there."

"What if they are hostile?" another guardsmen asked, hefting his large flechette rifle. It was a new design by one of the recruits from Starth Primus, but had yet to be field tested.

"We'll try and avoid hostilities if we can, but I'm not going to lose you lot to some xenos who shoot first and ask questions later," Solomon replied. "I've got too much work for you to do as it is, can't get anything done if you're dead."

Amidst a few chuckles from some of the more senior guardsmen, Solomon and his cohort moved along as best they could, avoiding or shooting anything that looked like it was Dark Eldar in origin or design. Several fallen weapons and pieces of armor looked tempting, but wherever he went, the captain made sure they were untouched. Who knew what kind of unseen booby-traps could be lurking in plain sight, waiting for some careless scavenger to get just a little too close?

After patching up whatever corridors needed it, their halls often littered with scorch marks, pocketed surfaces, fallen weapons or armor, and sometimes dismembered bodies of Dark Eldar, the large group made its way up to a large opening, peeking out from which were what Solomon assumed to be doors of some kind. Given the fact they were either too damaged to move or were stuck by fallen debris, he didn't know, but he made sure to post a good portion of his troops outside, just in case.

Peeking his head in, Solomon noticed the air here felt thicker, as if it were being forced to stay in this area rather than leak out into the void-open holes of the ship. "Advanced atmospheric recycling," he murmured, stepping forward through the hole.

Two blasts erupted mere inches over his head, singing his hair and sending him diving for cover on the floor. A pair of voices, harsh and definitely not human, accompanied another pair of blasts, shredding several pieces of debris between Solomon and the far end of the room. More guardsmen rushed in, hollering and firing their weapons all over the place in a cacophony of noise, only for Solomon's own weapon to blast into the ceiling, the shower of debris creating a large cloud of dust between his forces and whatever was over in the corner.

"We mean you no harm!" Solomon shouted, motioning for his troops to take cover behind whatever they could and to cease firing. Most did, but when several did not, he shot his weapon into the ceiling again, and then aimed at the unruly ones until they complied. "I only wish to talk!"

There was silence for a moment, and then another pair of blasts flew through the cloud, striking the floor next to Solomon's feet.

Okay, whoever, or whatever, these things were, they were good shots, and clearly didn't care about the dust cloud between them. "Hey, hey, hey! I said, I only want to talk! Jesus Christ, why does everyone shoot first?" Solomon shouted, holding his weapon up in the air. "See? I mean you no harm, I only want to talk."

There was silence again as the dust cloud settled, and for once, Solomon could see what had been shooting at him. Tall, lithe figures, dressed in strange armor and wielding weapons he had never seen before. They seemed sublimely graceful, even with the most minute of incredibly quick motions, and given how often the figures seemed to glance towards one another, they seemed to be arguing.

Likely whether or not to just shoot him, he thought.

"Sir, what are they?" one of the guardsmen asked. She, amongst the others, knew very well not to question his judgement unless the situation was most dire. Right now, it was more of a "Mexican standoff" than "outright firefight", though given how jumpy everyone likely was being on a xenos craft, there was no telling what might happen.

"I… I think they are Eldar," he replied. "They resemble Dark Eldar, but do not seem the same."

"Sir!" one of the guardsmen called out. "There's a child over here!"

"What?" Solomon asked, looking over to find… well, that was unexpected.

Hiding behind the pair of taller warriors, there was a young girl, likely no more than thirteen standard years of age, standing over a barely conscious woman who must have been her mother, given the resemblance. However, the pointed ears, the thin yet tall frame, the narrow eyes, and the air of haughtiness even in the face of danger… these were not Dark Eldar, but their cousins.

"Sir, what do we do?" another guardsmen asked, her weapon, along with those of the others, at the ready. None of them had seen an Eldar in the flesh, Solomon included, but given how similar they were to the corpses of the Dark Eldar, it stood that they were more than a little wary.

"Let me try and talk to them," he replied, blatantly setting his weapon down on the ground, in full view of the two warriors. The littler one, peeking out from behind one of the two, seemed to show a sliver of curiosity at his gesture. "We may yet all get out of this alive."

The two Eldar warriors leveled their weapons at him as he took several steps forward, their posture clearly dictating what would happen if he tried anything. The woman lying on the ground, dressed differently than the others, propped herself up on a piece of debris, the younger Eldar kneeling beside her in a supportive manner.

"I mean you no harm, Eldar," Solomon said, his arms up and his palms open to show he was unarmed. "I only wish to talk."

The two warriors looked to the other, whose expression seemed… strange, to say the least, as she whispered something to the others. Haughty, yes, but with a curiosity that seemed mixed with incredulity, although a hint of indignation was also there. Why she seemed like that was beyond him, seeing as from what he had read, Eldar felt emotions much stronger than a human.

"Speak, then, mon'keigh," one of the warriors said, the voice scratchy but unmistakably female.

Mon'keigh? Did she just call him a simian? "Umm… okay, my name is Solomon, and I am the captain of the _Terra's Scion_ ," he replied. "I am a citizen of the Imperium of Man, and as of now, trying to make my way in this big galaxy."

"To which organization do you lay claim to?" the other warrior said, this one a female as well, though it sounded more haggard, like she was sick.

"Organization?"

"Yes, mon'keigh, who do you work for?" This warrior sounded fairly suspicious, angry even, but given how ass-backwards so much of the Imperium's major organizations were, and how humanity as a whole treated aliens, it wasn't an unreasonable question.

"I'm a Rogue Trader, free to do as I please across the Imperium and the galaxy," he began, but upon seeing their grips tighten on their strange weapons, quickly added "but within reason. You might say I work for myself, but also I work to improve the safety and security of whatever Imperium worlds I visit. I also pride myself on trying to be a bit more… diplomatic, than most others, waiting to try and talk things out rather than just start shooting all the time." He paused, looking around the bridge for effect. "What happened here?"

"We were attacked," the Eldar on the floor replied, her voice weak but sounding fairly airy, as if she were either partaking in some serious drugs or was in some sort of trance. "Dark, vile cousins attempted to lay claim to us through laying siege to our craft. We are mere game to hunt, sport to be sought, but a fight of our ferocity they must not have expected, nor a defense as spirited."

"These same Dark Eldar… they are the ones that attacked one of our worlds recently, a world I have a vested interest in," Solomon replied. "I take it none survived the encounter, nor any of the humans they took as slaves?"

"None that we know of, all perished when the command ships fell silent," one of the warriors quickly replied. "What is it you want, mon'keigh? Our time is valuable and your bestial voice is grating on our ears."

"I want to offer you a deal. Leave this crumbling corpse of a ship behind, and come with me onto my own. You will be treated accordingly, and fairly, and will be under my protection for the duration of your stay, until which I can return you to your own kind."

"As if we would trust a filthy creature such as yourself to hold up any sort of bargain like that," the other, more ragged-sounding warrior, replied. "Your kind is nothing to us, mere pests, so your word is as good as useless."

"Well, be that as it may in your eyes, I am still willing to offer you food, shelter, and safe passage once your strength has returned," Solomon said, ignoring several mutters from his crew. "The terms can be hammered out at your own convenience, once you are on healthier terms, but I take it you've gone without food for some time, and likely won't last much longer without just resorting to eating each other."

"Why would you offer this?"

"Isn't that what a good person does? Offer safety and show some compassion to those in need? I know it's not what most are used to in this grim galaxy, but in my experience a little kindness goes a long way."

The two Eldar warriors looked at one another before turning to the other, her expression a thoughtful, if slightly stunned, one. If she was their leader, then other than the much more intricate clothes, there was little indication of it. Maybe their rank was based on their lifespan, or total experience?

"You promise that we will be left alone by your crew, and any visitors you have on board, regardless of their rank or power?"

"I will do my best to keep any and all interactions between yourselves and any others, other than myself, to an absolute minimum."

Her already narrow eyes narrowed further. "Promise, on your honor, that this will be the case, mon'keigh."

"If you stop calling me a stupid monkey, then yes, on my honor, I promise to keep you safe," he said, lowering his hands. "Now, please, consider my deal while you can. My troops and I will leave soon enough, and the deal is off the table once we leave. We're going to be blasting some of those Dark Eldar ships as we leave, and I'd hate for your ship to get caught in that resulting debris field." Several rumbles throughout the ship gave credence to his belief this craft was likely not yet long for this world as it was. Atmosphere was likely leaking, even as they spoke.

The three adult Eldar chatted amongst themselves rapidly, their language far too difficult for Solomon's untrained ears to pick up on. However, it did sound fairly beautiful, if a bit strange. Was it also possible for a language itself to be somehow demeaning to those who did not understand it?

Suddenly, the Eldar stood, unsteadily, and took a step forward. "We grudgingly accept your initial terms, mon-… human, and we will join you on your ship. Betray us, or let anything befall my daughter, and I will break your mind like glass, shattering it and your soul to the winds of the galaxy. You will be bound to forever be nothing more than a whisper, at the whim of anything remotely psychic, and as such, you will suffer a terrible fate few have. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Solomon said, before backing up to his lasgun. "You may keep your weapons and armor, but if you go out of your way to attack or even threaten any of my crew, I will alter the deal at my discretion, and there won't be a damn thing you can do about it. You may be my guests an under my care, but it is my ship you will be staying on, and I make the rules there, so I expect them to be followed by all aboard, regardless of who or what they are. Are we clear?"

"… crystalline," she replied, before turning to the younger Eldar. "Come, Fengil, stay by my side."

Quickly, the smaller xenos walked to her mother's side, and taking one of her hands in both of her own, looked out warily at the captain. He was likely the very first human she had ever seen.

"Sir, I can't believe you are doing this," one of the guards said. "Where in the Warp are we going to put them? The detention block is too small, and I doubt they or any of the troops would be keen to have them spend any time in one of the barracks."

"We're bringing them aboard the ship, and putting them in one of the empty vaults, as its big enough for them and heavily reinforced," Solomon said. "It will be far away enough from everyone else that it won't be a problem, but close enough for them to be guarded carefully."

"They've killed citizens of the Imperium for thousands of years, sir."

"So? We've killed likely just as many since the Imperium was founded. I doubt these four will give us much trouble."

A growing murmur of discontent among some of the troops made him pick up his lasgun and fire a blast into the ceiling, causing the four Eldar to back up slightly or raise their weapons again. "I _said_ , they are going on board my ship, and staying under my care. I may have questions that need answering, and right now, they are my best bet to get them, understand? We have no idea if there are more of them nearby to take them instead, and if we leave them on this ship, they will perish, and I will not let that happen, not if I can say otherwise. Can't you see how skinny they are? They're even thinner than those Dark Eldar corpses we found on Mas Primus, and those were probably well fed."

The paleness of the Eldar's skin, as well as an emaciated look in their faces and evident rib bones under their clothes, gave credence to the man's statement. "But sir, they're xenos," another guardsmen said.

"Yes, but they'll be under my watch and guard until I learn what I can from them," Solomon said, thinking quickly. He needed to know more about the Eldar, and assuming some form of trust could be created, he'd have to keep them safe from his own crew more than anything. There was not telling just how many of his Mastuonus Primus troops would be angry about him harboring aliens whose cousins had kidnapped or slaughtered so many on their homeworld, or how any of the Sororitas would be downright furious. "After that, I'll think of something, maybe send them on their way back to their homeworlds, but until then, no harm is to come to them, is that understood?"

Many guardsmen murmured or whispered amongst each other, prompting Solomon to fire his lasgun into the ceiling again.

"I said is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir," the troops said. If not managed properly, this could very well end badly for everyone. Solomon knew keeping the Eldar's location private was going to be impossible, but keeping them safe would be slightly easier if some guards were posted. Maybe a Crimson Mech or two, as sentries, could do the trick, as well as some of the more veteran guardsmen.

"Good," Solomon said, before turning to the young Eldar, her eyes wide as the armored man looked at her and her mother. "If I might ask, Eldar, what is your name?"

"You may refer to me as Seer Teltyra, human," she replied.

"Well, Seer Teltyra, I have something for your ward, if she wishes." Raising his hand, Solomon made sure the troops kept their weapons lowered and looked down at the younger Eldar. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a ration bar he had been saving, and gently, tossed it towards her. The youngling braced, as if expecting the bar of food to explode, but after several seconds, she looked up to find it simply laying there. Tentatively, her eyes never leaving the assembled humans before her, she reached out and quickly snatched it up, before looking it over with a frightened curiosity. Sniffing it, she tentatively peeled off the wrapper and licked it, and as her eyes went wide and ears seemed to perk up, she took a small bite.

After a few chews and a thoughtful expression gracing her childlike face, she looked up at Teltyra, who gave her a small nod. She then immediately crammed as much of the ration bar into her mouth as she could, and chewing ferociously, ate it as fast as she could. Within seconds, it was gone, and the wrapper was flung to floor after being licked for every crumb on it. She looked back up at Solomon with a look of hopeful longing, almost puppy-like, and despite her alien nature, Solomon felt his heart melt a little.

"I guess they _were_ really starving," one of the guardsmen said. "I'm not sure anyone would want to eat a ration bar like that, even on an empty stomach."

"Well, while that may be true," Solomon said, to the sound of several accompanying chuckles, "we still need to get them aboard the ship in one piece, before this ship just falls apart from the debris fields. You two, get more ration bars, I suspect the others might be hungry."

The two warrior Eldar flanking the one called Teltyra, their weapons at the ready in case any of the humans tried anything, and with little Fengil between her mother and the captain, the group moved out of the bridge, flanked in front and behind by fairly awestruck guards. Solomon walked in front of his "guests", accepting whatever ration bars the troops would give him and supplying them almost as fast as the young girl could eat them. The two warriors refused to remove their helmets, and seemed unwilling to do so in the presence of their new "hosts", though given the way their gazes lingered on the ration bars little Fengil ate with great gusto, their will would not last much longer. Teltyra slowly ate an offered ration bar, her will likely holding her back from chowing down like her daughter, but only just.

As the group moved around, a shadow just slightly paler than the darkness surrounding the unlit corridors flickered between piles of rubbles, moving with a grace and speed that seemed otherworldly. After moving too quickly and quietly to be noticed by several small patrols, often vaulting over them in unnoticed, it finally dashed past a group of sentries guarding the ramps to the large shuttles, and without a sound, disappeared into the folds within. The larger shuttle was more than roomy enough in the cargo portion for something to hide, and the wych knew it.

Meanwhile…

The small ship's journey from the edge of the Vaeria system, all the way to the primary planet in the system, had been a fairly slow and thankfully uneventful one. Titus, former captain of the Ultramarines, and now bound for a different sort of fate, watched from the bridge as the ship came to a stop alongside another, fairly larger, cruiser. The iconography aboard it, along with the amount of weapons, and color, indicated it belong to a member of the Inquisition, or at least, one that hadn't disappeared mysteriously, as others had.

Moving to the hangar bay, Titus watched in silence, his travelling cloak resting against his large form as he boarded a shuttle. His thoughts swirled as he overheard several of the accompanying guardsmen talk amongst themselves. They had all been called from conflicts both current and past to this ship, to be part of some retinue meant to fight for the good of the Imperium. A motley collection of guardsmen from different walks of life, as well as two former commissars and a fairly excitable Mechanicus Adept, made up the crew. Titus, however, was the only former space marine amongst them.

As soon as he landed in the other ship, and exited the ramp, he was greeted by a relatively unsettling but still welcoming sight. A group of space marines, clad in dark armor and sporting many weapons, greeted him with silence, the captain at the forefront appearing to have come from some loyalist offshoot, likely that of the White Scars. The others were much harder to identify, but given time, Titus was sure he'd learn their histories, as they undoubtedly already knew his own.

"Greetings, brother," the captain said as the guardsmen walked past, all in clear awe of the Emperor's mightiest warriors. "Before we begin, there is a message you are to see."

Holding up a small vox device, a woman's face came onto the screen, and soon after, her voice followed. "Greetings, former Captain Titus. If you are receiving this, then you have made it on board my ship, the _Iberian Rose_. In case you were wondering, yes, it was I who prompted your release from prison, and your instruction to join my retinue of Deathwatch. I am not available to greet you in person, but I trust you will follow orders and do what you are told to, for the good of the Imperium. As of now, I am undercover and dealing with the mess left behind by the former governor of the world you stand above, so for now, do as you are told, and I will meet with you to discuss future plans."

As the vox turned off, and the former captain silently looked up to his new brothers in arms, the captain clapped him on the shoulder with an armored glove. "Welcome, Brother Titus, to the _Iberian Rose_. We are in the business of killing xenos, fighting traitors, and working for the good of the Imperium. We are the guards against the terrors of the galaxy, those who stand gladly between the Imperium and annihilation. Welcome, to a select band of battle brothers, who fight for the Imperium, and whose service is done only when death has claimed us. Welcome… to Deathwatch."

 **A/N: well, looks like things are picking up to me. We'll have a lot more good things to come over the next few chapters, though they might be longer simply due to the fact I'll be adding in some more character interaction between the good captain, his Eldar captives, and some of his more… bellicose shipboard guests. If you have any questions, comments, tips or concerns, please feel free to leave a review or even send me a PM. I answer all my PMs, in case you were wondering, and in the meantime, I'll be going over the upcoming portions of the story quite a bit.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty One**

"How are the accommodations? I will admit they are fairly… smelly, but these vaults were only recently cleaned from top to bottom, so they haven't completely lost that cramped closet smell."

"They are as best as you can do, correct? You are not simply tossing us in a room far from an escape pod, should your ship come under attack?"

"No, there are plenty of those spread over the ship, just in case, and unless you want stay in my room…"

"Then they are… sufficient for the time being," Teltyra replied. "We will be safe in here?"

"Yes, and given the number and strength of the guards, it'll be fairly difficult for anyone to enter without my consent," Solomon said simply. "Now then, as for your end of the bargain, keep to yourselves, and activate this whenever you require something important." He handed the Eldar Seer a small vox device.

"What would we use this primitive device for when we can simply ask a guard?"

"The guards might ignore you, they're here to help protect you, not bend to your every whim. This way, this secure channel will put you in contact with those I trust, and from there, you may ask for important items, such as food, sleeping supplies, perhaps a large wash bin in which to take a bath? I'm not entirely sure about what you need, so the more information you can provide, the better."

The Seer looked over the small device as if it were a disgusting spider, harmless but still fairly repulsive to look at. "I… thank you, human. What will you do in the meantime?"

The captain put on a pair of darkened glasses, the lights in the entryway a bit too strong for his taste. "I'll be back."

"Where could you possibly be going?"

"I've got a few errands to run on my ship here or there, but rest assured, I've got questions I'd like answering." He paused for a moment. It hadn't been too difficult getting the Eldar onto his ship, as thankfully nobody had been troublesome, but after all, it didn't take much to know that some of his crew might attack them on sight. So, he had had to sneak them through portions of the ship, where crew numbers were the lowest, just to get them to the vault area. "Speaking of which, one of your questions before, back on your ship… I wasn't entirely truthful in my own answering. I left out one particular reason, probably because if I had said it, you'd have thought I was lying."

Teltyra made a scoffing sound. "I had my doubts, captain, mon'keigh in your position are notorious for lies and half-truths. What is your other reason?"

"I want things to be better in this galaxy," he replied simply. "Where humanity can be safe from the terrors that knock at our doors, from the nightmares that keep us awake at night, but also where we can live in relative peace with those whom we share a common cause."

"A cause of my kind is so far removed from the concepts of your own, I doubt you'd be able to differentiate between two similar ones."

"We both fight for the same thing, Seer, we fight to survive. Despite how vast our Imperium is, we are struggling to get by, and that's being generous. I may not know much of you, but from what little I've heard, you and your kind aren't doing so well either. Just remember that, despite our differences, our histories are mirrored quite well, and in the end, we're all in a desperate struggle just to see another day."

With that, Solomon turned and left, the large door closing behind him, leaving a rather dumb-struck Seer behind him. His answer was definitely not the one she had been expecting.

"What say you, Seer?" one of the Banshees said, removing her helmet. Scars riddled an otherwise similarly-beautiful face, though most of these were from battle aboard their craftworld Ulthwe. The other, remaining silent, removed her own helmet and began to nibble on some of the food offered on a large table. It was mostly simple ration bars, but there was the occasional fruit and whatever else produce the captain had procured from Mastuonus Primus.

"I believe the captain's intentions, while fairly naïve and doomed to fail, are not the worst I've heard. We must bide our time and recover our strength. I can sense the relic we seek aboard this ship, though exactly where is difficult to discern. Rest assured, sisters, we won't be here for too long," she said, as she walked over to the small bed in the corner, where Fengil lay, asleep and belly full of food for the first time in a long time. "When we are rescued, depending on how were have been treated, I will determine the captain's fate. Whether it is drawn out and painful, or swift and merciful, his death, which he will have likely earned by then, will be my own doing."

"What of the relic? Surely he must know where it is, even if he does not know the true nature of it," the scarred Banshee said. "The mon'keighs are probably using it as a table or believe it to be some sort of decorative statue."

"We ourselves don't know what it looks like either, sister, but rest assured, when we find it, I will know. Until then, eat up, rest, and regain your strength. The captain will undoubtedly pester us in the near future, likely after his errands, and I would prefer to recover as much as I can before that happens."

"This food is substandard in the highest sense."

"It is food nonetheless, and while it may be as bland as the sand upon many a desert world, it is what will help us regain our strength. Now, eat, before he comes back."

Several weeks later…

"Syngra, have the troops been talking?"

"About your "guests" down in one of the old vaults, captain?"

Solomon nodded. "I would think by now word would have gotten out about them, so by now, I'm sure there'll at least be some chatter amongst the troops on the matter."

"While my team and I have been fairly busy, word on the proverbial grapevine has indeed mentioned the Eldar in passing," Syngra said. "By the way, would it be possible for me to ask them on their weapons? The technology seems almost magical in comparison to our own, yet it can't be entirely psychic in nature."

"We'll see, I'm not sure how they'd react to a "mon'keigh", as they call us, asking about their technology. Even if they did respond, there's no telling if they'd lie or not, and even if they told the truth, it's likely far too beyond anything we can come up with now," the captain replied. "I'm trying to do what I can with what I have, and despite what we're making, we're not actually advancing technologically. We're simply scavenging what was, or in some cases, repurposing what we have for different roles. I mean, the Crimson Mechs are like a finely-tuned halfway point between a space marine dreadnought and an Imperial Knight. It's not like they're anything revolutionary."

"Be that as it may, without any sort of dedicated organization to push technological boundaries, I'm afraid that's the way it's going to be for a while," Syngra replied. "What we're doing is heretek in the highest sense, and while what the Mechanicum does not know will not hurt, when they find out, things may go very bad for us, very quickly."

"Then we'll just have to score enough brownie points with as many powerful Mechanicum leaders as we can before that happens."

"Brownie points, sir?"

"It's a phrase meaning "friendly influence" or something. Basically, we get as many friends in high places as we can, so we can keep the more zealous of your organization off of our backs. We may not technically answer to anyone, but they could still make our lives miserable if they so wished. I still need my ship refitted by professionals, so until then, I'd prefer not to piss off any Mechanicum-held worlds."

"How?"

"We'll give them things we find relating to archaeotech, that's all. Remember how we said we'd made copies for ourselves?"

"Yes, I do, though has anything changed from that?"

"Well, no, but we'll also be sure to give them some of whatever we've been coming up with, so long as we can convincingly make it look like it's older, or far more different than what they already have. Many of them might straight-up short circuit if they ever found out the stuff we've been giving them has been decoded by us already, or some of it has been fabricated by us completely."

"So then, in the meantime, what are we to do about the Eldar, sir?"

"Leave them to me, and if anyone asks-,"

"Captain Solomon!"

The man grimaced. "Right on cue," he muttered, turning to face the source of the voice. "Ah, Prioress Absinthia, I thought I'd be hearing from you soon enough." It had taken a while for the grapevine to reach them, but then again, most of the troops did find the Sororitas somewhat intimidating, himself included, so idle chitchat wasn't exactly an easy thing to do with them.

"What in the name of the Emperor are these tales of xenos aboard your vessel?! Xenos, I might add, have slaughtered countless numbers of the Imperium's citizens since the very founding of the Imperium?" The prioress was nearly beside herself with anger, and given how her hand kept twitching towards her bolter/flamer combi-weapon, she was trying very, very hard not to use it, either on him or on whomever was nearby.

"Yes, I do have Eldar on my ship," Solomon replied. "Four, to be exact. Now then, as per the rules of living on my ship, you may do as you wish within reason, and they in turn are also answerable to those same rules. However, this is a very special case, and you, or anyone you order, or anyone under your control, or even anyone you know, is forbidden from attempting to harm these four Eldar. Unless they become a direct threat, they are my guests, and I will have them treated accordingly."

"Do you honestly believe I will simply sit idly by whilst filthy xenos infest your own ship? Do you honestly believe they can even be considered guests?!"

Solomon crossed his arms. "Yes, prioress, I believe that is exactly what is happening, and what will happen. I have many questions for these Eldar, and despite their own misgivings on the situation, I will do my best to make sure I get what I can out of them. So far, they have been forthright on fairly routine things, like culture and history, even if it's been fairly arrogant and insult-laden."

The Sororitas scoffed, an expression of disgust mixing with her evident rage. "You would speak with them as if they were us, on such simple topics? What kind of sickness festers in your mind? Consorting with xenos of any degree is heresy, for it-,"

"I very well know why it is, and what it details," the captain said, raising a hand to silence her. "However, these xenos owe me their lives, so I expect some cooperation from them. Afterwards, once I am done learning from them what I can, I will deliver them elsewhere, for their own kind to retrieve. I am not consorting, I am learning from an enemy before I try and brutally kill them, which is more than I can say for most of the Imperium's organizations." He paused for a moment. "Besides, I answer to pretty much nobody in the Imperium. Not you, not an Inquisitor, not a Magos, nor an Administratum figure. I am my own man, doing what I wish with what I have in the Imperium. I can explore, conquer, destroy, or assist as I please, so my agenda is my own, to be done as I wish, whenever I wish."

"But-,"

"No buts, Miss Absinthia. Now then, if you would be so kind as to go cool off, and perhaps practice on the dummies down on the target range, perhaps you'll lose some of that anger enough for me to actually try and talk with you without the need for shouting. Okay? We need to discuss a few things for the near future, but until you've calmed down enough where you aren't ready to whip out that flamer, I'm afraid it'll have to be postponed."

The prioress was silent for a few moments, before giving an unintelligible shout and turning around, stalking off back towards the quarters where her retinue of Sororitas had taken up residence. Solomon was silent as he watched her go, his mind trying to come up with some sort of backup plan. If the prioress ignored his wishes, what was he going to do with her? Assuming nobody actually killed or harmed the Eldar, he'd have to make an example of her and her convent, to show his word was law on this ship. Maybe getting them to clean the firing range or something?

"Sir?"

Solomon turned to find a small group of guardsmen waiting behind him, a few watching the prioress stomp off in the distance. "Sir, is it true?" the forefront one asked.

"Yes, Janeve, I have several Eldar aboard my ship," he replied. "They are my guests for the time being, and when I have learned from them all that I can, and they have regained their strength, I will set them free on a world where their own kind can find them. Until then, they are to be left alone."

"But sir, they're known for being powerful psykers," she said. "How can we be sure they won't try and influence you with their abilities? Their kind have often lied or spun half-truths to save their own skins, so what is to say they will tell you the truth, so long as it keeps them alive?"

"Well, given that, Pontius will have to "look me over" every now and then, preferably after every real meeting with them, so as to make sure I'm not "tainted", as you fear," he said with a shrug. "Other than that, I'll have to be willing to put my trust in their word, and if I find out their word has been false, I'll decide on what to do. Why the interest?"

"Just making sure you're doing what's best for the crew, and not just you, sir."

"What I'm doing, if it works, will go a long way to helping more than just the crew, or even their home planet, Janeve," Solomon replied. "The work I'm doing, the work I'm focusing on, and what I'm striving towards, will be for the betterment of the entire Imperium, and thus for all of mankind. If I have to step on a few toes or hurt somebody's feelings along the way, so long as things turn out even halfway decent from what I dared to hope, then so be it. We're in a fight for survival, guardsmen, and it pays to explore as many avenues as possible."

"Sir, yes, sir," she replied, and with a salute, left with the small gathering of troopers.

As she left, Solomon turned to Syngra, who had been silentely fiddling with a few of her mechandrites in the meantime. "Syngra, tell me, have I had any message recently?"

"Other than the usual ones, of requests for aid, news of troop or supply shipments, or the building of the fortress on Talmanjir?"

"Yes, other than any of that."

"Well, you did receive a short message from Governor Delvidia. She wished to inform you that she is free in the near future, and would likely wish to pursue another date."

"Another? It hasn't been long since the last one." After his date following the disaster over Mastuonus Tertius, and his invigorated resolve to try and change the Imperium for the better, Solomon had been seeing quite a bit of the good governor, their last date having been right before he left to tow his asteroid processors into position. Despite a small undercurrent of unrest on her world, she had invited him to quite a few gatherings, including a few semi-religious festivals all about the Imperium and the Man-Emperor, as the founder of the Imperium was now commonly called by the young people. He had also gone on several sabbaticals, on her request, to nearby worlds devastated by war, either internal or external, just to help him understand how much being his ally meant to her. He'd even sent a good-sized merchant ship to Woebus, with many of his innovations made on Vaeria Primus, to aid in their recovery, simply because she thought it'd be a good public relations stunt.

Sometimes he wondered just who was whose ally.

"Well, be that as it may, she wishes once more to see you, though she did not specify where," Syngra said. "She informed me she wanted it to be a surprise once you were over the planet again."

"Very well then, we should be over within a few hours, given our current speed," he replied. "Now then, back to business. What say you and I go visit with our guests, and find out what we can learn some more from them?"

"Me? You wish for me to be there as well?"

"Well, you're very good at taking notes," Solomon said with a shrug. "Also, you're a good listener, and I trust you. What say you?"

The Adept was silent for a few moments, the cogs literally whirring inside portions of her brain. "An excellent notion, captain," she said. "I will retrieve my supplies, and meet you there."

"Excellent. I'm hoping this will be the start of something positive for a change."

Much later…

"No."

"So you're not from a nearby system?"

"No, human, we are not from some hidden world in your mon'keigh Imperium."

"Where are you from, then?"

"We are not at liberty to say, even under threat of death or outright torture."

Solomon sighed. For the past… what was it now, five hours? Here he'd been, sitting across from a table from the Eldar, and while only Seer Teltyra had chosen to answer him, her answers weren't exactly the best. Most were either thinly veiled threats, actual threats, and twisting answers so confusing he thought he'd have an aneurism trying to decipher them. So far, though, a few had been promising, but sorting through them was no easier now than it had been when they'd started.

"Okay then, we'll try a different approach, yet again," Solomon muttered, shaking his head. "Why are you here, so deep in within the Imperium's domain? If you are indeed not from a nearby world, and you are instead from somewhere likely far away, then why so close to the very innards? We're practically in the middle of the Imperium, one might say, and the backwaters at that. These worlds are as unassuming and relatively unimportant as they get."

"We have reasons of our own, reasons far too complicated and meaningful to be shared with the likes of you… human," Teltyra replied.

Solomon had an idea. "Try me."

"We are on a quest."

"To search for the Holy Grail?"

The Eldar blinked. "The what?"

Syngra looked up from her auto-quill, an identical expression of confusion mirroring the Eldar's. "What?"

Solomon smiled. "Nothing, nothing, it was a joke, a reference I'm not anyone else might understand. No, you are on a questing, and in questing, it means you are searching for something. Seeing as your penchant for searching has brought you deep into the Imperium, leaving you vulnerable and likely fairly far from allies, it is safe to assume that whatever you are searching for is very valuable. Now, I'm no expert on Eldar culture or history, though I'd very much like to learn, but it seems to me that anything of import to an Eldar would definitely not be something made by a non-Eldar, correct?"

"I… I guess so…"

"Then, it is safe to assume that if you are indeed looking for something in this quest, something likely Eldar in origin and important, then your search means said questing item is an artifact. Now, I'm also no genius when it comes to artifacts, but if you are searching for one, then if it is Eldar in origin, it would clearly be unknown to us humans, likely either misidentified or completely unusable by us. As to the nature of this artifact, given your small size and what I am guessing was the fairly small size of your original party, judging by your ship, then you were not sent to retrieve a weapon of some kind. No, I'm thinking it was something far less useful on the battlefield, but far more important than a mere blade or energy weapon. No, what you were looking for, was a piece of your culture, something significant enough to risk a small but fairly well-defend force to find it so far from home."

The Seer smirked slightly, her narrow eyes carrying a hint of amusement. "You are slightly more intelligent than I give your credence for, human. Your deductions, whilst fairly crude, are not far from what might be the truth."

"So then, this artifact, if it indeed exists," Solomon said, leaning on the table as Syngra's notes piled high beside him. "What does it look like?"

Teltyra appeared deep in thought for several seconds before she answered. "We do not know."

There was silence for a few moments before the captain spoke. "Come again?"

"We do not know what this artifact you believe we are searching for looks like."

"So you are searching for an artifact?"

"Perhaps.

"Yet, if you are, you don't know what it looks like?"

"Indeed."

"Christ, I'm going to need a drink," Solomon muttered, leaning back in his chair and pressing his hands to the sides of his head. "These double-talks and maybes are making my head hurt."

"It is not our fault that your puny, simple mind cannot comprehend what we are trying to tell you," Seer Teltyra said. "Even a youngling of our race could follow such discussion with ease."

"Well, that's not my problem right now, it's that fact that your entire species, if they're anything like you, just can't be straightforward for any amount of time, or on anything either. Now then, as per this damn artifact… why are you searching for it?"

"As you yourself so bluntly put it, it must be valuable to us on a nonmilitary level, and whilst our race has seen better days, we are still yet strong enough to defend ourselves from other galactic races. Why would we not then search for things that rightfully belong to us, regardless of their origin or function?"

"Being willing to make such sacrifices to find an artifact like this does betray it's importance, even if you have no idea what it looks like," Solomon replied. However, before he could continue, there was a knock at the heavily fortified vault door. Turning, he walked over and opened the small slot that served as the viewing port.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Sir," one of his senior guardsmen said, one of the very few remnants of when he first became captain, and one of the most loyal. "We've received a message from Mastuonus Primus, from the governor. She wished to inform you that, now that you're over the planet, she would like to discuss an important matter."

"Which one?"

"She did not say. However, we do have a problem out here."

"A problem? Does it look like a fairly strong woman, in power armor, with a flamer, and a bunch of her friends?"

"More or less."

Sighing, Solomon turned to the Eldar, who had been watching his conversation with benign interest. "It seems we'll have to continue this conversation at a later date. Until then, please at least consider that I'm trying to help you as best I can, so please, try and cooperate. Syngra, we're finished here."

The two Banshees, as he had learned they were called, remained silent, Teltyra simply made a scoffing noise, and while she hadn't spoken since he had first seen her, little Fengil seemed much less wary of Solomon, so much so as to give a small wave behind her mother's back when he left.

Exiting the vault, with a notes-laden Syngra in tow, Solomon was met with a sight he had expected, but had hoped would not. The Prioress, along with a seriously well-armed group of (former) space nuns with a penchant for pyromania, had gathered in front of the vault. The few guards he had in a fairly-sturdy checkpoint had managed to not let them in, but their persistence was likely only held back by the four lumbering Crimson Mechs standing alongside them.

"Prioress, what is this?" he asked, glad he had his sword on him.

"Consider this your final chance, captain," she replied. "Surrender the xenos to us for immediate purging, or face the consequences."

"I think not, Prioress."

"Why? Have you no love for your fellow man, and would instead consort with xenos? Is their alien physique alluring to your dulled and corrupted senses?"

"Just shut up, Miss Absinthia," Solomon said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm really not in the mood for this shit. I told you I'm learning what I can from the Eldar, and-,"

"What could you have possibly learned from them that isn't a lie or some vague premonition of the future?" Absinthia retorted. "They are filthy xenos, lying and cowardly and obstacles to be removed, so-,"

Solomon had had enough of this shit: his head hurt and he needed a stiff drink, and maybe a shower as well. "I learned what they are looking for, and why they are here, you presumptuous fool," he growled. "While you were furiously diddling yourself to fire, incense and a picture of the Man-Emperor, I was learning from them. Namely, the likely fact that they are looking for an artifact, important to their kind, and while it does not seem to be a weapon, they themselves do not even know what it looks like. So, they are just as blind as we are to what it is, so for the love of all things in this Imperium, listen to what I'm saying, and take it to heart. I do not want to fight you, Prioress, but I will not have mutiny aboard this ship. We are in orbit over Mastuonus Primus, so if you want to get off this ship, then be my guest. Nobody's going to stop you."

Brushing past the prioress, who seemed either too shocked, confused or upset to say anything, Solomon looked at the gathered Sororitas with a disappointed look on his face. "Is this what defenders of mankind act? Like spoiled children, threatening and whining if they don't get their way? I know you've been trained your entire life to deal with things like things, but have you ever given thought to the fact that maybe, just maybe, you're going about this all wrong? That maybe listening first, and acting later, might actually work better?"

Striding off, he left them in silence, Syngra following quickly behind.

"Sir, was that wise?"

"I don't know, and right now, I don't care. What will you do now?"

"I'm going to compile my notes into a data codex, for future reference, should any wish to review our discussion."

Solomon smiled. "Good, I'll see you later then."

As Syngra departed towards her own "science" division, Solomon looked back at the distant Sororitas, who had not moved but seemed far less imposing than before, as if some of the air had been let out of their sails. Confident the door to the vault was secured by the large mechs in front of it, Solomon continued on his way towards his personal quarters. However, he failed to notice a shape move along the dark ceiling, narrow eyes and lithe limbs following him almost like a shadow.

Much later…

Solomon sighed as he toweled himself off, the hot shower feeling wonderful as he exited his bathroom. Following that stiff drink, of course; he'd really needed that. A stronger version of what he'd drank back on Mas Primus, it had wonderfully dulled his senses to the migraine he'd been nursing from all the Eldar's strange doublespeak.

"Confound those Sororitas, they'll drive me to drink yet," he muttered, wrapping his towel around his waist. "What was I thinking, letting them on board my ship? Sure, they make great medics and doctors and some sort of police force, but damn if they don't give me more trouble than they're worth. I'd be better off with a shipment of Death Korps, at least then they'd listen… probably."

He hadn't received any reports of the Sororitas trying anything with his troops stationed around the entrance to the vault containing the Eldar, but that didn't mean he'd seen the last of them. If they did leave, then all the better for him, but if they didn't, then he'd have another thing to watch out for. Damn if he didn't have enough problems with the rookie recruits looking for action, the fraternization between the Crenon amazons and some of his troops, and the occasional problem with some of his more experimental creations, design flaws included.

However, these thoughts left his mind in a blaze as a blur appeared in front of him, far too fast for him to comprehend completely. However, he did feel the strong hands grip his own and pin them to his sides, and without much effort, the being lifted him up into the air and slammed him against a wall, making him wince in pain as the back of his head hit the hard metal surface.

"Strange, that a pitiful creature like you would be so different than other mon'keigh," it said, her wicked armor curving over her lithe and strong frame. The height difference, much like Eldar, was not too great, but even at being raised off the ground, Solomon had to look up slightly to meet those terrible, narrow eyes. "With power and the means of seizing more, but held back by infantile inhibitions and a moral compass that will only leave you lost. Not that it matters in the end, but I am grateful that we have met more than once, just so my suspicions could be confirmed."

"What?" was all Solomon could croak out, the air having been knocked from his lungs.

"On the filthy food world below, I made myself known when I tossed your pitiful communicator from the top of a defunct, inferior defense tower," the wych said, her tongue running dangerously but sensually over her exposed, fairly sharp teeth. "I gave you a salute, mon'keigh, and while I had not expected to meet you off of the battlefield, imagine my surprise when you just so happened to stumble upon our most recent victim's ship. It is quite the pleasure, seeing you again, knowing fate brought you into my clutches this time."

"That was you? You, who slaughtered my troops?" She did look familiar, after all; the beauty mixed with horrid alien cruelty, a predatory smile, a body both alluring and terrifyingly adept at killing… all she was missing was the helmet and her strange weapons. Where were they? Had she snuck them aboard too, or was she unarmed?

"Indeed, their screams were mirrored by the harvesting of several of their souls, the agony of which drove some quite mad," the wych said. "Now then, for a soul like yours, a simple device or ritual will not do. No, I do believe a more… intimate transaction will be needed. Slaanesh will derive great sustenance and pleasure from your soul, mon'keigh, as strange and old as it is. Now, this is going to hurt you a lot more… actually, no, this isn't going to hurt me at all, just you."

"What?"

"Before I begin, though, so as to appease the curiosity in your pitiful mind, you may know me as Kaeravaesh. Know it well, for it will be the last name you ever hear."

Before Solomon could say anything more, the Dark Eldar opened her mouth and, with a blur, leaned in and sank her sharp teeth into the side of his neck, right above the shoulder, biting into the flesh deep enough for blood to suddenly ooze from the wound. He struggled in her grip, but she was far too strong for him, and thus he could not resist her, despite all attempts to do so.

As Solomon felt shock enter his system, and a feeling of draining stirring deep within a part of him he did not know, darkness started to consume his vision. He heard a voice, but the identity was lost to him, and in a deepening darkness, he slumped in the Dark Eldar's grip. The voice continued to call to him, but he could not respond. He was slipping away, deeper and deeper, and then… there was a shout, a bright light, and he felt pain flare over him as he tumbled to the ground, the floor feeling softer than he remembered.

With that, the world went dark, amidst another scream, an alien scream of agony and untold pleasure, as a sudden rush of unknown feeling and energy coursed over him and his attacker.

 **A/N: there we go, some more stuff going on, some Eldar and Sororitas interaction on Solomon's part, and the beginning of a fairly long arc in the story. Thank you all so much for the support, the comments, the reviews, the PMs and the collaborations I have received for this story, I truly appreciate it.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty Two**

Solomon rubbed his head as he stood up. What in the… where had that Dark Eldar come from? Why had she bitten him? What had happened to him when she did?

… and now, where in the hell was he? It seemed to be a massive room, filled with nothing but doors, some fitted into the walls, some down on the floor, and even a few just floating around, like bubbles on a windless day. All of them appeared to be the same make and model, though a few here or there showed signs of damage. There were old doors stacked in small piles as well, broken into pieces, and in the distance, he could make out a door fortified like that of a bank vault.

"What the hell is going on?" he thought.

"I think we can answer that question," a pair of voices said, and Solomon turned around… only to nearly fall to his knees. A great golden man, shimmering in purest sunlight, stood before him, a kind but weathered face beyond anything a human should be, and yet was. His dark hair streamed alongside him as if in a stiff wind, yet there was no wind, not even a breeze. Alongside him stood a woman, but more than a woman should be. Taller, with an extremely slender figure, and beauty that seemed to radiate out from her very skin, she had a kind but sad smile on her lips. There was something about her that felt off, but despite this, Solomon could only feel a comforting presence radiating from where she stood. Both were dressed in elegant yet simple robes, much like togas, though they shone more brilliantly than the light of a star.

"Hello, Solomon," the man said. "Sorry for the confusion, but you were about to be killed, and we couldn't let that happen just yet. You've done so much so far, but you've still got a lot of work to do."

"Killed?" Solomon repeated, feeling nearly struck dumb by the two before him. Maybe it was the fact his mind was still reeling from the assault by that Dark Eldar, but for some reason, he didn't feel awful, just… odd.

"Indeed," the woman replied. "The Dark Eldar was going to feed off of your soul, giving it to Slaanesh so that she might buy hers a little more time, though… I doubt she expected for us to come to your aid."

"That energy? That shout? That was you?" Feed his soul to Slaanesh, a chaos shemale with a penchant for putting its dick into whatever hole it could find? Wow, he'd dodged a bolter round there all right.

"Correct," the man replied. "You know me as Adam, and her as Eve. Right now, son, I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but our time is limited, so we'll answer only a few. So, I advise you to think carefully but quickly on what you wish to know."

"Where am I, and what's with all these doors?"

"You are in your mind, or soul, or perhaps both," Eve replied. "Whichever makes more sense is up to you. As for the doors, they are gateways into whatever you decide this place is, be they memories, thoughts, desires or regrets. It is very difficult for any mind, no matter the race, to access everything in their mind in this manner, and even for those that can, it is often fraught with peril or disappointment. For now, you will be no different than them, and even with much training, you will still find things you didn't remember popping up here or there."

"Okay, so, what do I do in here?" Solomon asked.

"For starters, nothing for now," Adam said. "In time, you will learn to open these in sleep, and wander your mind at will. This will allow you to keep better track of things, store knowledge for later use, revisit scenarios that have played out, and even rediscover something you do not yet remember. However, there is a price for this, a total lack of awareness of the outside world, and this would leave you extremely vulnerable. Awakening from such a state forcefully is potentially life-threatening if not done so correctly, so we warn you, only enter this place if you are certain you are safe."

"Okay, don't go into my own head unless I'm not going to be shanked, shot or crushed, got it," the Rogue Trader replied. "Okay then, what happened back there with the Dark Eldar?"

"I came to your aid," Eve said simply. "I overrode what she was doing to you, and in the process, healed the scarring to your soul she was beginning to inflict. However, physically, you will still bear some semblance of a mark, though I doubt your compatriots will notice it unless you are bereft of clothes. Unless you organize a ship-wide manhunt somehow, you will not find this "Kaeravaesh" as she calls herself, and will still likely need some medical work on the bite mark. I can only do so much through your comparatively frail self."

Adam nodded. "I, on the other hand, ensured that the vile wych was dealt a stinging blow, both physically and psychically, as our combined power, though very limited through our connection with you, was more than able enough to send her mind and body into disarray. She will be of little threat to anyone in the near future, though it would be prudent to hunt her down."

"That, and I do believe you will not be the only one hearing voices soon enough," Eve added. "In the meantime, however, I would recommend you go to you crew and say you cut yourself on something, telling only your closest advisors the truth. If word got out, there would be hunting parties all over the ship, and I doubt the Eldar in your care would be safe from them."

"So you know about them too, huh? Okay, next question, what am I supposed to do with them? I'm not dumping them on some rock for their own kind to find until I can get everything I want from them."

"Take care of them, but do take solace in the fact that, whilst they have indeed fallen far, they are not entirely heartless," Eve said. "They still have so much to learn, and perhaps, given time, you might be the one to teach them what they need to know. I certainly think they will listen to you now, given our… interference."

"I would also get them somewhere more suitable for living quarters," Adam added. "Whilst more secure, your vaults lack most amenities, and they would likely be far more cooperative if they were somewhere more comfortable. Also, those stones your scouts found on board their ship? I would return those, as a sign of goodwill, to show them they are your guests, and not prisoners."

"Okay, got it, give them back the stones," Solomon said, just as the world around him, the doors, Adam, Eve, even himself, seemed to blur. "One last thing, what do you mean they will listen now? What changed? What happened to me when you interfered?"

"You'll just have to see for yourself," Adam's voice replied, drifting away with the rest of the vision. "Also, do be careful, you're a bit more… enhanced than you were before."

"What the-," Solomon muttered, before everything went black once more.

* * *

In an instant, he opened his eyes to reality, the voices fading as the quiet of his room set in. The first thing he noticed was some dried blood along his chest, running down from where the Dark Eldar had sunk her fangs into him. Secondly, said Dark Eldar was nowhere to be see, this "Kaeravaesh" having likely fled immediately after Adam and Eve's interference. Thirdly, he was lying on the cold floor beneath, as naked and scarred as the day he got out of his cryopod, and to top that off…

"Captain?" a familiar voice asked. "Are you alright? You appear injured."

"Syngra?" Well, if not for the fact that she'd seen him naked the first day he'd woken up, and several other times since then, Solomon would have been extremely embarrassed. "Syngra, could you get me some clothes? I need to speak with my officers about something important."

"Indeed, shall I fetch you one of the surgeon's as well?" Her voice betrayed no real emotion, as synthetic as it was, but there did seem to be a hint of concern mixed with… amusement?

"Go right ahead, I feel I'm going to need stitches or something after this little incident."

Meanwhile, aboard the _Iberian Rose_ …

"Sir! We're nearing the planet of Mastuonus Primus, and the Inquisitor sent these for you," an aide said, bringing a small stack of papers to Titus. No more did he wear the armor of an Ultramarine captain. No, now he wore the blackened armor of a Deathwatch marine. His retraining had been fairly short, given his history of fighting, but getting used to the armor was a bit more difficult. That, and following the orders of Captain Ulbchek, who seemed convinced that Titus was holding back on him in some way, and would push him as hard as he could to get more results, be they on the firing range, during meditation, or whenever he interacted with the more common crew members. Titus could not yet make heads or tails of it, but the captain's drive was likely to make him the very best he could be, even more than he had been before.

"What are they?" Titus asked, retrieving the small stack.

"Orders, most likely," the young aide said. He was not nearly as awestruck in front of space marines as others his age, it seemed, but there still was an undercurrent of joyful disbelief that he was speaking to an astartes. "I was told not to read them, so I don't know what they are."

"I will bring these to Captain Ulbchek," Titus replied. "He will know what to do. Thank you, cadet, your services are no longer required."

With a quick bow and a smile, the young man left the tower space marine alone. Moving through the ship, Titus wondered just what the Inquisitor wanted with him. So far his training had basically consisted of purging mutants and the occasional heretic on Vaeria Primus, the latter of which were simply leftovers from former governor Orchus. Whatever the inquisitor wanted with him now, however, had something to do with this otherwise unassuming agriworld, and for the fairly long life of him, Titus was at a complete loss for as to what that might be.

"Captain," he said, entering the main room in which his fellow Deathwatch team congregated. "A message from the inquisitor."

Ulbchek took the papers and slowly perused them, muttering something under his breath in his native language. "Looks like the good inquisitor has a mission in the works. There's a nearby system whose primary planetary governor has entered some sort of agreement with a Rogue Trader. It seems you're going to go to this man, and watch over him in all that he does, Titus."

"Me?" the Deathwatch marine asked, curious. "This is a solo mission?"

"Indeed, battle brother," the captain replied. "Now then, as per the instructions normally associated with such a mission, you are to exercise any and all judgement on the matter at hand, including the actions of this Rogue Trader. If the inquisitor believes them to be a danger to the Imperium, or you find evidence of such, then you are to terminate him on site, and any others he may have corrupted."

"I… understand," Titus said slowly, processing this information. "Do the mission details offer a name of this Rogue Trader?"

"He goes by the name of Solomon."

* * *

Back aboard the _Terra's Scion,_ the senior-most officers, as well as a few recent promoted ones, gathered around an operating table, confused by their captain's summons. "So, let me get this straight," Prollarius said as the last of the wound was scrubbed by one of the shipboard physicians, the miraculous healing power of Eve having somehow accelerated its self-repair to where it was a clotted scar. "There's a xenos on board this ship, right now, that attacked and possibly tried to kill you and/or eat your soul, and despite its clearly dangerous nature, you don't want us looking for it?"

"Not actively," Solomon said. "I want it found, but it too could have answers to questions I have. So, for the time being, nobody goes anywhere on this ship alone, and definitely not without some form of communication. This "Kaeraveash", as she called herself, is lightning fast, and far stronger than she appears, so trying to find and engage her would be suicide, especially in such cramped quarters. I will not be taking risks with the lives of my crew by organizing shipwide searches. There's no telling what portions of this ship are dangerous enough as it is for them to look through, even if this Dark Eldar isn't even there. Plus, I need to keep this Dark Eldar on her toes, so to speak."

"How so?" Syngra asked.

"If we make an effort to prevent her from gaining any sort of sustenance, she will become hungry," he explained. "Then, we set a trap for her, but a fairly obvious one that would seem subtle to us, but to one of their kind, very obvious. Then, we set another trap, but so subtle it would look nothing like a trap to even one of them. Once she is hungry enough, she will fall into the secretive trap, and then, we catch her."

"Provided this somehow succeeds and doesn't horribly backfire, what will you do with this xenos witch?" a recently-promoted Janeve Stell asked, one of the few new officers attending this clandestine meeting. "Put her with the others?"

"No, I doubt they'd do so well together, and remember, I'm trying to keep the Eldar alive," Solomon said, sitting up and using a small mirror to examine the wound. The scar would never fade, but the wound would finish healing in a relatively short amount of time. How Eve had healed him as far as she had, he had no idea, but he was very grateful for it. "In fact, I'm thinking I move the Eldar to some other living quarters on the ship. It's going to be more trouble than it's worth for us to try and make them comfortable in what amounts to a heavily-reinforced storage closet, and the more relaxed they are, I'm hoping the more cooperative they'll be. That, and if we manage to catch this Dark Eldar, I want her alone in that vault, under heavy guard and constant surveillance."

"Captain, what of the stones our scouts recovered from the dead Eldar aboard their vessel?" one of the officers asked.

"Well, we have no use for them," the captain replied with a shrug. "I say we give them back to the Eldar. They aren't weapons, and seeing as each dead Eldar we found them on had managed to keep them from breaking even as they died in what we saw was likely very brutal combat, I'm guessing they are important to their race on a level we can't even compare. So, before we move the Eldar to a new location, secretively of course, some of you are going to move those stones into their accommodations, for them to find. Any questions?"

"What of Prioress Absinthia?" Syngra asked.

"We are going to tell her that the Eldar are being moved elsewhere, but not specify," Solomon said. "If she tries anything, do whatever you can and use whatever means possible to stop her, but not kill her or her fellow Sororitas. I'm not going to have the blood of a bunch of former space nuns on my hands just because they don't like how I run my ship. So, if pressed, have them refer to me, and if they get testy, remind them this is my ship, and therefore, my rules apply."

"Where exactly will the Eldar be relocated?" Pontius asked.

"To one of the horticultural pods currently being used as a small forest biome, the one between my residence and that of Syngra's technology division," Solomon replied, getting off of the operating chair and flexing his shoulders. "Ordacius kept a few of those pods in a natural state rather than turn them into farms, maybe for relaxation, so rather than put them in some sort of barracks, I think my guests would prefer something a little more… natural. I want them moved as soon as they are ready, willing or not. If they ask, just tell them you are moving them in secret to a new location, one that they will find much more agreeable."

"Disguising them in hoods and keeping the corridors clear of others should make the transition a smooth one," Janeve said. "However, what if they refuse?"

"Just tell them it's a captain's order," he said with a smile. "Now then, some of you, go leave them those stones in the terrarium, but don't break any. Now, be off with you, and the rest of you, come with me to my quarters. I have special assignments for each of you."

* * *

In the dark depths of the _Terra's Scion_ , Kaeravaesh breathed deeply, her throat dry from the constant dry heaves that seemed to erupt every few minutes. Her entire body shook, as if electrified, and though she could find no sign of external injury, it was if her entire skin had been set alight by a slow-burning flame. Sights and sounds that she could normally ignore with ease pelted her from every direction as her mind, once sharp and concise in every movement she made, was a jumbled mess.

"What happened?" she muttered to herself, hissing in pain as another headache hit like the punch of an ork warboss. Even the sound of her own voice caused her some slight pain, and not the kind she normally enjoyed. "What happened with that mon'keigh?"

Here she had been expecting a simple meal of a soul, a distinctly unique and highly palatable soul from an otherwise unassuming mon'keigh, and for a while, everything had been as it always had been. She had felt his life force the second she had sunk her teeth into flesh, felt his struggling form still, the familiar, intoxicating rush sweep through her…

Then, without warning, something had struck her, an energy or force unlike any she had felt before, and considering she wasn't exactly young by mon'keigh standards, that was saying something. It had lodged itself right in her gut, almost like a fist, sending her sprawling in a twitching, agonized mess atop the similarly-thrashing mon'keigh captain. A moment later, her entire body had suffered a spasm as if Slaanesh itself was trying to forcefully possess her, and yet there was no pleasure in this feeling. No, it was like a burning flame, and the innermost portions of her had been scorched to the very core, both physically and mentally. Even her soul, once feeling tattered and fragmented like an old and well-used cloak, had been doused in this innermost flame. She was surprised she could even still move, let alone think.

The pain and the subsequent feeling of helplessness fled soon after, as did she, ignoring the strangely muttering captain as she left. No, she needed to regroup, and refocus her mind, and there was no way she was going to try and devour his soul again, lest the same feeling, or worse, occur once more. Yet, despite the fact she was on a ship filled with countless mon'keigh that would undoubtedly be out for her blood, she felt somehow safer than before. This upset her greatly, for she had heard something before she had been struck by the pain and inner flame and a feeling of unwelcome safety.

She had heard a voice call out, a voice that had called her by name.

" _Kaeravaesh_ ," it had said. " _Stop_."

As she sat in the confines of a long-abandoned closet, her shelter for the time being, the Dark Eldar could only ponder who or what had called to her. Slaanesh knew her by name, as it did all Eldar and Dark Eldar from the moment they were born until the moment they died, thanks to her absorption of so many of their gods. Yet, it was not Slaanesh that had called to her, for why stop her from consuming another soul for the Prince of Pleasure to enjoy? No, this was something different, something far more instinctual that had communicated with her. Something from her people's past, something far less likely than she would have thought possible.

"I should think even you'd have figured it out by now, daughter," a voice said, and the wych nearly threw herself up into the ceiling in shock. The voice… that same voice from before…

"Hello?" she asked.

" _I am in your head, not in this closet, young one,_ " the voice said, and as soon as it said so, Kaeravaesh realized she was indeed listening to it, but from inside her own mind. " _Do not be frightened, but I must ask you not to attack the human again._ "

"The mon'keigh captain?" the Dark Eldar thought.

" _Indeed. I have plans for him, plans that cannot allow for his soul to be destroyed, to be made a plaything of that vile penetration addict you call a god. Solomon is his name, and I need him alive for the time being, so if you could be so kind as to leave him alone, I would be most grateful. His soul is not for you to devour._ "

"What are you talking about? Who are you? How do you know this?" Kaeravaesh was beginning to think she'd completely lost it. All those decades and centuries of torturous fighting, climbing through the ranks, the countless siphoning of countless souls… had she finally broken and gone mad? "How do you know me, what I was doing, who I am?"

" _A mother knows her children better than they know themselves. Rest for now, and pay attention, for I have much to say, and I want you to take it all to heart, dear Kaera. You have a part in this now, despite what others might say, so listen, and listen well._ "

Meanwhile, in the captain's quarters…

Solomon groaned as he slipped out of his surgery clothes, the physicians having insisted he dress himself before walking down to the medical center. He hadn't though just getting his wound cleaned and all checked out could have made him get so dirty after so recent a shower, but then again, his ship's dust levels were becoming unbearable. He'd have to vent a lot of the oxygen and take in some fresh stuff from the planet below. His crew had been given their special orders, including a new training regimen for Prollarius to conduct with a burgeoning drop-trooper company, some new models of miniguns for Syngra and her division to work on, and some updates to the crew schedule for Janeve and some of the other officers to go over. Not even including the fairly stressful event of having a Dark Eldar try and suck out his soul, he'd had a fairly busy day, and would have liked nothing more than to retire to his bedroom for a good sleep.

First things first though, he felt like going for a swim in his large indoor pool, tucked in a corner a short jog from his other portions of residence. The shape of it reminded him of a small tropical lagoon, secluded and including a few palm-like trees sprouting from large earthen troughs along the shoreline, bathed in lights high up on the ceiling controlled from the entrance. In fact, given the amount of long grass from these same sections, as well as a small fountain near the far end, he wondered just what kind of world Ordacius had come from, and if this had been created to remind the departed captain of home.

Diving in with a splash, Solomon floated freely in the warm water, the chemical concentration light enough that, when he opened his eyes underwater, it did not sting. Gently swimming along the outer edges, his muscles relaxing from the stress of the day as the heat flowed into his body, the troubles of the world seemed to simply dissolve from his mind. Closing his eyes, he simply floated here or there, occasionally pushing off from the sides back out into the water.

So relaxed was he, that when he heard the rustling of something near where he had entered the lagoon, Solomon opened his eyes just in time to see a form slip into the water behind a large mass of tall grass. Blinking in surprise, and in a bit of alarm, he kept his distance, the reddish form slowly working its way towards him with an almost casual grace.

"Hello?" he called out, just as the grass parted before him.

"Captain Solomon?" a familiar voice queried in a somewhat mischievous tone.

"Governor Delvidia?" he asked, taking a small step back in the water. "What… what are you doing here? Why are you in here? Why… why aren't you wearing any clothes?"

"I think I could ask you the same question, captain, but then again, this is your ship, and thus you make the rules here, not me," Delvidia said, her normally finely-woven red hair a curly mess, dangling down and trailing behind her in the water. "I must say, you have a very luxurious personal quarters, I very nearly lost myself in them finding this place."

"Why are you here?" Solomon asked again, turning his face away so he wasn't looking directly at her. The water was very clear, after all.

"I came to see you," she said, approaching him slowly. "I thought that would be evident enough."

"I can see that," he replied. "Among other things, you know. Why are you naked?" That couldn't be the only reason she was here.

"I am swimming, and I forgot to bring my swimming garments," Delvidia said simply. "Why? Is this bothering you?"

"Yes, I mean, no, I mean… you surprised me is all," he said, looking back at her and making a severe effort to keep his eyes locked onto her own green ones. "I just… I just didn't expect company during my swim."

"So then I take it your own lack of clothing is merely you exercising your rules as captain of the ship, for your own personal quarters?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Come now, Solomon, we're both adults here, no need to be embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed, I'm just… this is new for me," Solomon muttered as she drew closer. By the Emperor, the swell of her… fairly evident bosom was larger than he had previously thought. Or was that the water playing tricks on his eyes?

"I must admit, this is new for me as well," she said, drawing close enough that she was able to place her hands on the sides of his shoulders. "Despite what everyone else told me, taking a shuttle up to a ship in orbit isn't very exciting. If anything, it was… rather dull. Finding this secluded place took me longer than I would have thought, as your guards were fairly insistent I move from the closest hangar to your quarters with an escort."

"At least you arrived here safely," he said. "So… why _are_ you here?"

"Well, I not only wanted to see you, but… I've been thinking," Delvidia said.

"About what?"

"About us."

"Our alliance?"

"No, no, about us, as people, as partners in this game of life. I've thought long and hard about what we've done together, and what we've managed to overcome so far. Now, I believe the time is right, Solomon for us, to go… further."

He gulped, feeling as he hands moved up onto his shoulders and pulled him a little closer. "Further?" he squeaked.

"Indeed," she said, gently pulling their bodies against one another. "Forgive me for being so forward, Solomon, but I really do like you, and I feel now is as good a time to show you just how much I do."

"Well, shucks Delvidia, I like you too, a lot, really I do, but-,"

She silenced him with a kiss, leaning up and claiming his lips with her own, her hands snaking behind his back and pulling him even closer to her, their bodies matched perfectly as flesh was pulled flushed against flesh. His hands, unbidden, came up behind her, pulling her even closer, deeper into the kiss, one hand holding her in the small of the back, while the other came up and gently tangled itself in her hair.

"So… I take that as a yes?" she asked after they broke apart, glancing down as she felt something brush against her. Oh… this was going to be interesting. It wasn't the same as her toys, but then again, maybe those had been preparing her for the _real_ thing?

"I… Delvidia, I have no clue what I'm supposed to do," Solomon muttered, sounding embarrassed as she gently led him towards the shore, where a large lounging couch, complete with the soft towels he'd brought with him, was waiting for them. "I've never done this before."

"You're a virgin? A handsome, caring man with a penchant for dashing heroics, selflessness and with a substantial amount of power, have never engaged in coitus with another?" Delvidia sounded as shocked as she was pleased.

"No, I haven't, I've been too busy, and well," he paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just never connected with anyone before, anyone that is… until I met you." He paused. "I do prefer women, just so you know, in case you were wondering."

The governor smiled at his sincerity and fumbling confession, it was just so _cute_. "Oh, you're too sweet for your own good, captain," she said. "Also, I had this feeling you weren't into _that_ sort of thing. Now then, just because _your_ little captain is standing at attention, doesn't mean _you_ need to as well. Relax, we'll take it slow, and-,"

"Wait, are you a virgin too?" Solomon asked as the two lay down on the lounging couch.

The governor was silent for a few moments, her smile turning into a small frown of concentration. "In essence, yes, I have never lain with another," Delvidia replied. "However, a portion of my tutelage was indeed preparing myself for courting, as well as marriage protocols, suitor choices and, despite my initial reluctance, learning the art of lovemaking. It's a fairly common thing to be taught to up and coming royalty on many worlds in the Imperium, especially those who stand to inherit a great deal or marry into a fair bit of power."

"So… we're going to do this-,"

"Yes. By now, you do realize this is non-negotiable."

"-and yet neither of us know exactly what to do, outside of instinct or the basics?"

Delvidia giggled slightly. "You make it sound like we're teenagers, discovering this for the first time. Don't worry, Solomon, as I said, we'll take it slow, and don't worry," she said as she pulled him closer. "I'll be gentle."

 **A/N: well no lemon scene here, if only because I want to try and keep this story to a T rating, but fret not! Those who wish to read something a bit more… mature, PM me, and I will in turn PM you what I wrote when I finish it. If enough people wish for the scene itself, either through PMs or reviews, I will upload said lemon as a separate entity to this story, both to keep the rating and to make it easier for readers to not be surprised by something they weren't expecting.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty Three**

"So that's the last thing I remember before waking up," Solomon said. "It's been probably over a year by now, though it doesn't feel like it sometimes."

"Well, that's… quite the experience," Governor Delvidia muttered, snuggling up against the captain. His spacious bed, normally so well-made, was a tangled mess of limbs, pillows and sheets, strewn about and twisted this way or that. Then again, they hadn't started in the bed, but had finished there. After that, sleep, which both of them had dearly needed, but after waking up, the two had started talking, as the good governor had had quite a few questions, and for once, Solomon felt like opening up to someone about them. "I'd had my suspicions you weren't quite the same as others in the Imperium, but… for Throne's sake, that sounds utterly unreal!"

"Tell me about," Solomon replied, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer. "Feels like some sort of dream, to be honest. From waking up, to fighting, becoming captain, finding you… all the fighting… all I've gone through so far, and what I'm still set on doing."

"Seems to me like the Emperor has a plan for you," she said, her fingers trailing down the middle of his chest. "Solomon, what was it like again? Terra? You make it sound so… simple."

"Really, it was, at least compared to now. Suffering and fighting, yes, but not even a pale comparison to what's going on now. No, in retrospect, Earth was beautiful, peaceful, and quiet. I'm sure everyone at the time would have thought that wrong, but if they knew what it was like now… I'm not sure what they'd think."

"Will you ever return to Terra?"

He sighed and glanced over, smiling as he gently twisted an errant strand of her red hair in his fingers. "Maybe, someday, should I be fortunate enough to gain the right to do so," he whispered. "But for now, it can wait; I have too much keeping me out here, too much at stake, and so much more to do."

"Am I one of those things keeping you here?" she asked, laying her head on his chest and listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"I don't know, it feels like it, after… what we just did," was his reply. "All of those things we just did. Never thought that'd happen."

"That we'd become more than just allies?"

"That I'd find someone like you, Miss Warmak. Kind, beautiful, strong, smart, and every bit the kind of ruler most governments of my time would have given their treasuries for."

"Oh, stop, you'll make me blush," she said with a smile. "But really, you never thought you'd find someone to warm your bed?"

"With the way I was, with what I've become now… I guess you could say I was a totally different person back then," Solomon said simply. "Back then, the biggest thing I worried about was finding a job. Now… I worry about far more, but it's less about me, and somehow, that makes it easier to deal with, I guess. That, and I had an almost crippling fear of women, or at least talking to them. Now… well, clearly that's not the same anymore."

"Sounds to me like you've grown," she said, moving up and gently kissing him, her voluptuous body pressing firmly against his own as her hair hung loosely, frizzed and curled and unkempt.

He kissed her back, his arms hugging her warm body close to his own. If not for the fact that such a term was fairly common nowadays, what had happened between the two of them since the day before had just been… magical. Then, a thought struck him. "Hey, Delvidia?"

"Yes?"

"With how many times we… you know…"

"Yes?"

"Is there any chance of you-,"

"Conceiving? Hardly. I did not come unprepared, captain," she said, smiling as she kissed him again. "I do not think a family is what I need right now, and right now, I do not think it is the right time for you either. So I took some very powerful contraceptives beforehand, in anticipation of anything occurring, and after what we did, and how many times, I am glad I took such a precaution."

"As much as I'd like a family someday, I think you're right," Solomon said. "We're entirely devoted to our titles, to our responsibilities."

"Entirely?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled and kissed her again. "Okay, almost entirely."

"That reminds me, I should be getting back to my home," the governor said. "I think we'll need a break after that."

"Break? What kind of break?"

"I need some time to rest and recuperate, silly," she said. "I suggest you go off and do whatever it is you need to do, while I do the same. We'll pick this up again, maybe after you come back from wherever it is you'll head next? I'm sure there are other worlds and systems out that could use your… unique ways, and although I'm sorely tempted to try and keep you to myself, I know you're better for the Imperium when you're not distracted."

He smiled and held her close, content to simply take in the smell of her beautiful hair as they lay there. Yes, it was time to get to work, and now he would face it with more than a simple spring in his step, but for the moment, simply laying there, with her, was all he wished for.

Later…

The sight that greeted the eyes of Adept Syngra the next day when she arrived in the captain's personal office quarters was not one she had been expecting at all. For one, there were many scrolls cast about here and there, scattered like leaves on an autumn day upon a world where there were still trees. All kinds of trinkets, decorations, working supplies and even a few half-drawn up plans lay about here or there, some neatly ordered in rows and others in scattered, clumped-together piles.

"Captain Solomon?" she called out, her mechandrites rearranging things back where they should have been as best they could like some sort of cyborg housemaid. "Captain, are you awake?"

"You bet!"

The Adept turned to find Solomon sliding into the room from one of his large closets, wearing a pair of ultraviolet deflectors upon his face, with a feathered cap upon his head, and a slick full-body suit that seemed more in line with what someone would wear to go swimming. Oh, and he was smiling so hard, Syngra thought his jaw was going to break. "Captain?" she asked, slightly confused.

"Hey Syngra, what's up?" he asked, making various poses and dancing like a fool hopped up on a horrible batch of combat drugs.

"We have received word from several sources of an impending threat to a nearby system," she said. "Where is the governor?"

"Oh, in bed, but she should be up soon," he replied, smoothly walking backwards while somehow making the motion to walk forwards. Syngra couldn't get her head or multiple implanted processors around how he was doing that. "What system?"

"The Othore system, a binary star system located a few jumps away from here," Syngra explained, watching as the captain attempted to do a cartwheel, but failed and flailed onto a pile of pillows. "It is a highly used training ground for Imperial Guard regiments from many nearby systems, with highly variable terrain and a designation that still classifies it as a feral world, seeing as the majority of its infrastructure is located in just one city."

"Well then, what forces do we have at our disposal?"

Syngra was silent for a few moments. "Other than the remnants of our first cadre from Mastuonus Primus, our others have been training fairly regularly, but it will be some time before many of them are ready for combat."

"Then we'll take the fight to whoever this threat is, in space. Send a message to the captains to prepare the troops, and Syngra, if you could be so kind as to help the governor when she wakes up, I'd prefer she was sent home before we leave. I'll be off doing a few things here or there, and after that, you and I are going to talk with our Eldar guests." With the, and with a spin, he left her, headed deep into his other spacious closet, where most of his uniforms and exosuits were kept.

Syngra sighed. She had no idea what had happened to the captain, but seeing him this chipper was… concerning. Had that bite affected him in some way? Or had something else occurred between then and now?

Maybe she'd ask Delvidia just what was going on. The governor had spent several hours with the captain, before and after they had retired for the evening, surely they had talked about a great many things.

Deep in the halls of the _Terra's Scion_ , in places unseen by crew in likely decades, a shadow moved with unearthly speed and agility amidst the great darkness.

Ships in the Imperium, especially those of this size or greater, were often home to roving bands of either cannibals, inbred mutants, or a combination of both. Many of them were either descendants of long-lose crew parties, the results of stowaways eking out a living from the shadows, or enemy boarding parties that had sealed off any way to reach them, and lived on from that. In the darkness of the hallways and long-disused storage areas, these wretches would do as best they could, raiding other "tribes" roaming the halls, or if their numbers became sufficient, trying to take over the ship. Yet, these were not the worst things to roam the dark hallways of great space ships, things that nightmares were made of, and would bring terror to the hearts of all but the greatest of champions.

However, these mutants and cannibals proved no match for the strength and speed of a Dark Eldar, whose night vision gave her an edge almost unequalled in the gloom. Having so far fueled her hunger for souls with the remains of those she killed deep in the ship's confines, the only evidence of her existence the bodies of those she had torn apart, Kaeravaesh never remained in one place for too long. There was no evidence others had searched for her, which was surprising, given that this "Solomon" was still alive and would have likely ordered her found. Surely they would give up after some time, assuming they were even looking for her, perhaps hoping that she had perished in some accident or starved to death.

"Stupid inbred mon'keigh, thinking he could surprise me," she muttered as she licked the blood from her lips, throwing the corpse of a mutant to the floor, watching as the bloodied gurgles ceased and its body grew still. Her hunger would be sated occasionally, but many of these things were unfit to eat other than for their souls, their flesh likely riddled with all sorts of primitive diseases. She was alone, without weapons, without any means of contacting her own kind, and without any means of escaping this ship. Sooner or later, after her supply of mutants and cannibal gangs had run out, she would need to find other means of sustenance, souls or otherwise. Whatever food they had was barely enough for her to survive on, and seeing as she was killing them all off, it wouldn't be long before she would have to venture closer to the ship's primary inhabitants to find what she needed.

That, however, would be far easier said than done. Any mon'keigh she killed there would bring more attention to her, and right now, as she scavenged whatever she could from inbred at her feet, she knew that the voice in her head had warned her not to fight if caught. "It will do you no good to die here, not when you have so much to look forward too," it had said, her voice as soothing as a dip in a warm bath after a long day of slaying slaves in the fighting pits. "I have plans for you, just as I do for Solomon, and for that, I need you both alive."

"What am I supposed to do if cornered, or found? Surrender to filthy mon'keigh?" she had asked, and many times at that. Her pride would never allow for something like that under almost any circumstance, and even if pushed to her limits of survival, it'd be hard to do such a thing.

"To Captain Solomon, perhaps, as he is the only one on this ship that might not try and kill you on sight," was the only reply she ever received.

Meanwhile…

Seer Teltyra sat deep in meditation, the sounds of the water trickling over rocks in large, artificial ponds in the middle of a serene forest the first calming noise she had heard since she had been back on Ulthwe. Granted, she would have preferred to be back on her craftworld, but this journey she had undertaken was more important than her desire for home, more important than her, more important than anything she had known in her entire life.

Yet, somehow, through fate or sheer dumb luck (or bad luck, depending on who you asked), here she was, with a large crate filled with things she had thought lost on their original ship. Soulstones, the most precious artifacts any Eldar could lay claim to, for they were the means of saving their souls from the horrifyingly awesome appetite of Slaanesh, that most foul Prince of Pleasure. Without them, upon death, an Eldar's fate was worse than their death, for their soul would be torn apart, and remade by Slaanesh into whatever it wished.

The fact that the mon'keigh captain had returned them to their rightful owners, as well as those they had thought lost on their ship, was more than a little surprising to the Seer and her comrades. Mon'keigh would usually keep them as souvenirs, or in the case of unscrupulous mon'keighs in the fringes of the Imperium, would sell or trade them for whatever they wished. No Eldar, no matter their pride, would pass up the chance of saving a soulstone from the grasp of another being. Otherwise, it stood to reason that eventually, these stones could fall into the hands of a Dark Eldar, and such a fate for the souls within would be nearly as bad as falling straight to Slaanesh herself.

So, for their accommodations to be moved to somewhere far more agreeable, and for the mon'keigh captain to quietly have the stones returned, gave the Seer considerable pause. Just what was with this one? She'd known many Eldar in her life, many of whom had fought mon'keigh, and this was… he was different from the rest. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she would figure it out soon enough.

There was the sound of a door opening on the far end, and although she could not see them, Teltyra could definitely tell her Banshee bodyguards were very close by, easily hidden and waiting to strike if anything were amiss.

In strode the mon'keigh captain, seeming far more chipper than usual, followed by the grotesque amalgamation of metal and flesh that was his "Adept" as he called her. What was its name again? Syngra?

"Mon… human," she said without opening her eyes, correcting herself just in time. "What brings you here?"

"Felt like you should know a few things about what's going to happen soon," he replied in his own inarticulate way. "That, and I wanted to talk to you about, well, you. I'm on a schedule, but I thought I'd drop by for a quick chat, if possible."

"Me?" she asked, failing the resist the urge to open her eyes and give him a fairly genuine expression of surprise. "What is it you would wish to know of your… guests, that we haven't already told you? You already know more of our culture, our history, our rise and fall, than most mon… humans, alive."

"I know," Solomon replied. "However, I'll save my questions for a little later. For now, I'm to inform you that we'll be moving from this system to another."

"Why is that?"

"There's an incoming ork invasion for a rather unprepared planet, and I intend to help as I can. With any luck, I'll be able to help stop them from making planetfall."

"I see," Teltyra replied, wondering where her daughter was. Likely off frolicking in tall grass or resting under the shade of a tree, finally regaining her strength. At least one of her Banshee bodyguards was always watching her, thankfully, whether she could see them or not.

"Other than that, I'll be making a few stops at several systems afterwards, for supplies and the like," Solomon said. "Upon our return, I'll have a few things here or there to do, but then I can get around to getting you home. Now, as for my question…"

"Only one this time?" This mon'keigh just kept getting stranger and stranger to Teltyra, and she had witnessed many strange things in her life.

"Well, I was hoping you might want to ask me some questions for once, seeing as you've been kept in the dark for some time now," he replied with a shrug. "What I want to ask you this time, however, concerns your current survival as a species. Your kind are renowned for your ability to peer into the future, to see things that might happen, yet for all of this, your kind still suffers greatly at the hands of others. Why not seek peace with humanity? We two species are some of those who last need to fight one another. A peaceful coexistence would be preferable to constant warfare, would it not? As it was during the times before the rise of the Imperium?"

The seer was silent for several moments, visibly trying to come to terms with what he had just said. "It is… complicated," she finally said, folding her hands in her lap. "My kind sees yours as little more than highly evolved simians, hence the moniker we bestow upon you. You are a very young race compared to ours, have not suffered as ours has, has not evolved to experience the galaxy as we do."

"Yet mankind and Eldar once were not at war, living relatively peaceful lives in the galaxy. Why should now be any different?"

"We could afford to give little notice to others when our kind was not teetering on the edge of a blade, ready to fall at the slightest notice," Teltyra said. "My kind has gone through so much, in so relatively short a time, that we are unwilling to try this. We must interfere with all, know what others might do, so that we do not suffer in the long run. Eldar can see the future, yes, if they are strong enough, but even we cannot know everything, and as such, we take precautions, no matter the beings, and no matter their intentions. Losing an Eldar's life and soul is far more devastating to our kind than losing one of your own in the sprawling empire that is your domain."

"Then why not reach out for assistance? I am sure with enough convincing, and maybe a bit of luck, the Imperium could spare Eldar some space within their borders to live, somewhat like a reservation." Solomon knew such things were idealistic fantasies at best, but then again, most of what he was doing was just that; idealistic. If Eldar posed little or no threat to the Imperium in a fractured state, wouldn't the best way to make them allies, or at least non-aggressors, would be to offer them a safe haven? With the problems Slaanesh and their cousins caused for Eldar, finding some semblance of peace might help them survive, if not return to some shred of their former glory. However, based on what the two voices in his head had told them, Eldar returning to their full might would not exactly be an entirely good thing either.

"My race is not unified, so any decision or agreement with one craftworld might be ignored or barely held up by another," the Seer said simply. "We are scattered, divided, and many of us carry too much pride to accept the help of those we see as inferior. It is hard to describe, but to have been the most prolific, advanced, and dominant species in the galaxy for millions of years… for it to all be so suddenly and abruptly ripped from us, for us to be cast down in so horrible a manner as was our Fall, the shame of it all is something all Eldar carry deep inside us. Yet, despite this shame, our pride can barely allow for us to even attempt diplomacy with other creatures. Your Imperium is a fine example of this."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Solomon said. "Pride had a very specific place in Terra's history, both real and mythological, long before Eldar and mankind first made contact."

"How would you know about the time of Terra before the rise of your Emperor?" Teltyra asked, once again surprised that she was actually surprised by his statement.

Solomon simply shrugged. "Let's just say, I look really good for my age. Anyways, in ancient Terran mythology, there was one god, known by many names, but commonly as God. He created everything, and I mean literally everything. However, he also created beings known as angels, which would sort of be the equivalent of benevolent daemons, I guess."

"So?" When he said he "looked good for his age", what exactly did that mean? Was he able to afford rejuvenation treatments mon'keigh often used to extend their lifespans, or was it something else?

"Well, one of these angels, the most beautiful and greatest, grew to dislike God, and wished to become the "boss", as it were. So he rebelled against God, but when you're going up against your creator, and can't even begin to imagine how out of your league you are, it becomes clear where you're headed. So, according to mythology, this perfect angel, and all his followers, were cast down from where God resided, Heaven, a place where, upon death, you were free from want; hunger, thirst, toil, weakness, and suffering in general. This angel, known by many names as well, but commonly called Satan, was cast into Hell, basically a simpler but still very bad version of the Warp. Some people mistakenly thought of him as the ruler of Hell, but in reality, he was more like the top inmate in a prison."

"Why are you telling me this?" Teltyra had never heard of this "Satan" before, and from what she could tell, Solomon was not making this up at all. A crude comparison to those steeped deep in Eldar mythology, a mythos ancient before mankind's ancestors left the trees within they originally dwelt, but history had a way of making parallels of all things.

"The fall of Satan was because of his pride, a parallel that, whilst crude, in trying to go against God, he doomed himself to an eternity without God. To be as prideful as he was is to invite downfall and ruin, much like one could say for your own kind, and how its downfall has resulted in the situation you are currently in. A life without God was, to many humans, the worst possible fate you could experience. Many believed, long before I was born, and likely a long time after, that to not believe in God, or to live without God, would mean there would be no peace in the afterlife, or even one, depending on who you asked. They believed that because of this pride, of believing oneself to be above an all-encompassing love, to be above the concept or light of God, to be above anything they can't see or feel or understand completely, was to be the same as Satan, and as such, once you died, you would not experience what God had to offer: eternal peace."

"Then what do you believe?"

"I don't know much about where mythology, reality and this galaxy all converge, but I do know that unity can overcome the greatest of obstacles. I believe that this galaxy can become a better place for all if we strive to make it so, human and alien alike," he said simply. "That's what I am working for, and even if it takes me the rest of my life, even if it ends up costing me my life, I will not stop until this galaxy is a better place, even if just a tiny bit. After all, one person in the right place at the right time can change everything, and every little decision for the betterment of all are pebbles that can add up to a veritable mountain of change. All it takes is one little push of one of those pebbles to start a landslide."

The two sat in silence for a few moments before there was a beep on the captain's wrist. Sighing, he brought up his personal vox. "Yes?" he asked.

"Captain, your presence is needed in the main hangar, the governor wishes to bid you farewell," the voice of Prollarius said.

"I'll be there shortly," he said, standing up. "We'll have to continue this at another time, I have something else to attend to." He offered his hand.

The Seer eyed the appendage as if it were a rather unappealing animal. "Goodbye then, captain," she said, and gingerly shook it, having observed what she believed to be the primary means of how mon'keigh greeted one another.

After breaking off the handshake, and with Syngra in tow, Solomon left the Seer alone in the once more.

As soon as he had left, the Seer inhaled sharply, having barely been able to control herself upon the merest skin contact with the human captain. The captain… no, it wasn't possible that shouldn't be a thing, there was no way it could be…

And yet, as realization of the truth dawned upon her, even as she tried to deny or explain it away as a fluke, as just some mistake or a trick of the mind, in her heart, she knew… she had found it. She had found what she had been sent for, what her kind had been looking for, had needed all this time. The one thing that could change the fate of her kind, the one thing that could help save them from this narrow brink of collapse.

It had been here, all this time, right in front of her nose, and she hadn't even sensed it until it was literally within her grasp. The filthy mon'keign captain might not even know what he was carrying inside him, and she mustn't let him know, for too much was at stake.

She needed to contact her kind as soon as she could. There was no time to waste.

Later, in the main hangar of the Terra's Scion, Prollarius and several of his more experienced commanders watched as the captain and the governor bid one another farewell.

"What do you think they're jabbering about?" one said.

"Not sure, but I've got money that they're seeing each other once we get back," another replied.

"The lads think she fancies him something fierce," Prollarius said. "However, if all rumors were to be true, then so does half the crew, even Syngra, and we all know she isn't into fleshbags like us."

Several of the guards snickered as the governor boarded her shuttle, and with a roar of engines, flew up and out, back towards home.

Solomon turned to his guard, a smile disappearing and being replaced by a look of determination. "Is everyone ready?" he asked.

"Primed and prepped, sir," Prollarius replied. "Other than a few of the corvettes not ready for space flight, we're nearly at full strength once again."

"Good." Thanks to his own plans, and the thankfully-uncorrupted ones of former governor Orchus, Solomon had been able to build nearly two dozen small corvettes since he had managed to get his resource base and small shipyard stations up and running. These ships, with a relatively small crew and much more efficient use of space, were dedicated to anti-fighter and bomber roles, mainly for defense purposes. A few of those even had hangars themselves for squadrons of strategic bombers, each carrying payloads far more devastating than the previous models. However, the rune-coated corvettes were too small to be used for any sort of frontal attack, and seeing as he couldn't just up and grab each of them a navigator, shuttling them along with his own ship required them to be literally bolted to his own, with their own Gellar Fields, very strong for ships of their size, to overlap with his own, just in case.

He'd have to get access to more shipyards and more resources, especially manpower, if he wanted to get started on building better-designed destroyers and cruisers that didn't involve retrofitting old bulk freighters with guns and church spires. Scavenging old wrecks and smaller space hulks would be best, but that would be for later. He'd heard stories of horrors within those he most certainly did _n_ ot want to deal with right now.

As of now, a full half of those corvettes, designed to hold the most amount of firepower, void shields and engine strength at the cost of armor and self-powered Warp travel, were attaching themselves to his hull, small enough that they wouldn't compromise his ship's integrity, but large enough to function as more than a glorified turret unto themselves. Once they arrived in the Othore system, they would detach and serve as a small screen in front of his own ship. The rest were either still in the process of being completed, or had just been finished and were currently orbiting his base over the moon of Talmanjir.

The Mechanicus was likely going to blow a few fuses once they figured out what he was doing, but news often traveled slow in the Imperium, so he figured that by the time they figured out what he was doing, and scraped together some sort of response, he'd have built up enough of a power base and a fleet of his own to protect his interests, and maybe hold them off with a few STC fragments if he was lucky. At least, he hoped that was the case. Maybe the Mechanicus would be distracted by something else, like finding ancient tech in some random subsector or having oil margaritas on Mars.

Anyways, back to the task at hand. "Are the troops ready?"

"Some of the newer gits are having some trouble adjusting to livin' on a ship, sir, but they'll fall in line soon enough," Prollarius said with a chuckle. "Say, captain, me n' the others were wondering, anyone else coming to the party in the Othore system?"

"Other than the system defense fleets already in place, I can't say for certain if any others will be there," he replied. "For now, assume it'll be just us, the local boys, and whatever those damn greenskins are sailing right towards them."

"Why are we even helping this system?" one of the other guardsmen asked, earning several scornful stares from a few other soldiers. Voicing discontent on other ships was grounds for heard labor or even execution, and nobody wanted the good captain to change his mind on "punishment fitting the crime" rule he had established.

"A good question," Solomon said, glad that at least someone had asked. "As you all know, the Othore system is rather unremarkable; a binary star system, a single moon around a single planet, and it's not exactly filled with resources or a strategic location. However, one thing it does have, is highly variable terrain, and we've been training the new troops in fairly simple stuff. Now, if this all goes well enough, I'll probably set up some kind of deal with the governor of the planet, and I can send my troops there to train. It's got everything you could want for terrain outside of a hive city setting, so what better way to cover all my bases?"

"Sounds alright to me, sir," Prollarius said. "Though, what about on our way back? Didn't you say there were some other places to stop by before?"

"Indeed there are, but don't worry, I doubt it'll take us long to make our stops," Solomon said. "Meet me on the bridge once everything's set, we'll be making for the system's edge shortly, and after that, jumping into the Warp."

In a different sector of space, aboard a cruiser of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the robed form of Baramus sat at a table, several mechandrites fiddling with pieces and parts of a small bolter, while the others arranged several sets of cards in front of his guest.

"Brother Baramus, what news do you bring me this time?" the man across from him said, having finished his post-meal prayer to the Emperor, despite his emails from both Terra and the Ecchlesiarchy telling him not to.

"Inquisitor Triggerus, please, hear me out on this one. I have ascertained the location of this "Captain Solomon", based on current events and the reports we received from the Ultramarine Leandros, along with some bouts of hearsay. Both he and his ship will arrive in the Othore system shortly, where we might be able to make contact with him."

"Isn't that system being invaded by a large greenskin rok?"

"The very same. We will have to hop he either survives the encounter, or we can reach him before the greenskins do."

"Do we have to deal with greenskins again? Why can't it be Tau? At least they won't try and chop me into little pieces with a hunk of sheet metal they tore and pounded into an axe with the skulls of their enemies. The Tau, despite being heretical xenos, are much easier to deal with."

"Maybe someday you'll have it easy, Inquisitor, but for now, we must set out for that system. I shall have the captain set course, for time is short, and if we do not hurry, we shall miss our opportunity once again!"

The inquisitor sighed as he tossed down a pair of playing cards. "You know, sometimes I don't understand why the Emperor hates me so much that he'd send me after this one man. What could he possibly be doing that would draw the attention of the Adeptus Mechanicus as it has? We have yet to see any sign of heresy according to the reports of those who he has aided, even though that all could just be a ruse…"

"It is not what he is doing, Inquisitor, but what he could know. My superiors and I would certainly wish to know just what secrets he has tucked away in that brain of his. Now, it's your move, proceed with your angling attempts."

"It's called "go fish", toaster-boy."

"Dutifully noted, recaf-addict."

 **A/N: well, there we go! Sorry for the delay from the previous "official" chapter and the lemon one posted to my DeviantArt, life dumped a bit on my plate and I've had to sort it out while also dealing with this time of year and all it entails. Happy belated Turkey Day to those who celebrate/d it, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty Four**

Coming out of the Warp wasn't fun, even if the Gellar Fields were all functioning as normal. For one, it meant you had to come out at the edge of a system, lest the gravitational forces of a planet tear your ship apart, along with everyone inside of it. Secondly, it then meant a long journey towards the planets in question, meaning forces arriving to help could turn up either too late, or early enough that their arrival hindered more than it helped. Lastly, being so far out in the exterior of a system meant you and your ship were vulnerable to being either cut off in the event of an attack, or should it survive an attack, it meant that any help would take some time to get to you.

So, yes, as soon as they dropped out of the Warp, Solomon made sure the corvettes unattached themselves from his ship, and in a circular screening pattern, moved ahead of his own ship. Now, several days later, he could just begin to see the Othore's star drawing closer, a small glint in the distance the planet itself.

"Any problems?" he asked through the short-range vox systems, each broadcasting to one of the smaller corvettes.

"No problems here, sir."

"All systems are functioning perfectly, captain."

"We're all set on this end, sir."

Solomon nodded to himself as the other corvette captains called in. No daemonic manifestations, no strange mutations or occurrences on the smaller ships, and thankfully no sign of madness. If any of the Gellar Fields had failed, if even for a small moment, any number of terrible things could have occurred, either immediately or shortly afterwards.

Luck was on his side… for now.

"Everyone move towards Othore, we should be there within a few hours," he ordered, wondering how large this greenskin menace would be. He'd read that some would be equivalent to a single ship, about cruiser in size, whilst others would be massive conglomerations of space hulks, or even carved out asteroids.

"Sir!" Syngra called from her communications array. "We're picking up a distress beacon!"

"One of ours?"

"It would seem so. It's coming from a few thousand kilometers in front of us, between us and Othore."

"All hands, prepare yourselves, this could be a trap," Solomon said. "All ships, move towards that beacon, but remember to keep your distance. Syngra, if you can, bring it up on screen."

Her mechandrites flipping several switches, the Adept managed to pull up a somewhat fuzzy picture on the large vox screen, earning a sharp gasp from more than a few of the bridge crew.

"That… that's an Imperium cruiser, a _Lunar_ by the looks of it," Prollarius muttered from his post.

"According to the beacon, it is the _Pride of Othore_ , the main ship of the local defense fleet," Syngra said, pouring over several technical readings.

"By the Throne," Solomon whispered.

Indeed, it was a sight to behold. A ship slightly larger than his own _Lunar-class_ cruiser, likely designated as a heavy cruiser, but jaggedly cracked into two different pieces, it was surrounded by a wide debris field. The two pieces were venting atmosphere, air-fueled fires spouting from various holes within the ship's hull, and every now and then, a bright flash would erupt along the bow. As the _Terra's Scion_ drew closer, it became even more apparent that this was no detonation within the ship itself, for the jagged lines on both halves were pointed in the same direction.

It had been savagely cloven in two with an utmost brutality. That meant only one thing to Solomon; orks.

"Scan for survivors," Solomon said, turning to Syngra. "There thousands upon thousands of crew per cruiser in the Imperium, surely there are pockets of crew on there not yet dead."

"Scans indicate lifesigns aboard, in sealed areas near the bridge and secondary hangar bays," Syngra replied, the main hangar bays having been shredded apart when the ship was cleaved in twain. "At the rate the atmosphere is venting, sir, it won't be long before they all suffocate."

"Hangars, scramble the boarding shuttles with all haste," Solomon said through the vox system. "You've got people to rescue."

"Sir, we're picking up a transmission!" one of the other operators called. "It's one of ours!"

"Bring them up," the captain replied.

After a few moments, another image replaced the fuzzy image of the destroyed _Pride of Othore_. A frazzled-looking woman, wearing a rather crisp uniform and with several heavily-armed guards in the background, appeared onscreen. "Unknown fleet, identify yourself."

"This is Captain Solomon of the _Terra's Scion_. This fleet of ships is my own, with whom am I speaking?"

"Thank the Emperor," the woman muttered. "This is Captain Renwara of the _High Diligence_ , of the Othore Defense Fleet. Or, what now remains of it. You saw what happened to our flagship?"

"Yes, I am sending boarding teams to rescue whatever remaining crew we can reach before they run out of air. Where is your fleet now?"

"Currently, en route to your location. The greenskin rok, more like a hollowed-out asteroid with guns, armor and engines, is following us. We managed to destroy most of their engines with our _Monitors_ , so their speed is near nonexistent, but it won't be long before they fix that somehow, and catch up with all of us. We cannot stand up to their firepower on our own, few of our ships are capable of fighting this menace."

"How many ships are left of your forces?" Solomon asked.

"We currently have five Defense Monitors, two Claymore corvettes, and my own ship, a Sword Class frigate" the captain replied. "I took command after the greenskins rammed our flagship. We're faster than them for now, but they have far more weapon systems than any of us had anticipated."

"Why so large a fleet?" Solomon asked. "Othore is not in the way of any large invasions, nor is it strategically valuable, its only real resource being its lands for training troops."

"We were set to meet with a larger fleet, who was set to arrive within two months," Renwara replied, shaking her head. "Now, we've lost our flagship, and if we don't do something, the planet will fall under ork invasion. This warboss seems intent on eliminating us before it crashes into the planet, for a reason only the Emperor knows."

Solomon was silent for a moment. "Regroup with my own forces, and we'll take care of this rok before it can do any more damage."

* * *

The one thing about space that many do not comprehend is that space is literally free of directional navigation. You can go in literally any direction, and are not limited in movement by differing planes, such as up or down or side to side. A ship may go forward or backwards while also going to the right and up, or to the left and down, or in any combination of directions. That wasn't even including turning or spinning the ship, as the only point of view that mattered was that of the ship's own crew, and her captain.

Even as such, it could still be a bit disorienting to see other ships moving into their positions at varying degrees, making it seem as if they were all going away from a central point. In reality, all objects were moving, and this illusion of "centeredness" once led many people, as Solomon remembered, to believe the Milky Way galaxy to be the central galaxy in the universe. He knew it not to be the case, and wasn't sure if the Imperium thought as much, but decided arguing it didn't matter.

The ork rok was as the defense fleet captain had described, an asteroid with armor, guns and engines, only somehow just a little worse than he'd thought it'd be. There was a massive blade jutting from the front of the ship, likely the cobbled together remnants of several Imperium ship prows. The rest of it was jutting with cannon barrels of indeterminate function, and of many sizes, some of them bigger than his own main batteries. Wherever there wasn't a gun, there was armor, and it was likely so thick, he wondered if he'd be able to penetrate it even with well-placed shots. The prow indeed was formidable, but judging from the scans, the rear of the rok was indeed lightly armored, almost laughably so. It was basically one big engine, somehow working, as well as countless smaller ones.

Solomon's ship was directly below the ork rok, who, according to the surviving Othore defense fleet, had extremely powerful short-range and forward-facing guns, but lacked any kind of long-range projectile weapons, though there were conflicting reports of missile fire before it had rammed the capital ship. He was counting on the ork's limited engagement range, and as such, had directed the Monitors to face the rok from above, the remaining ships to lure it forward. Meanwhile, his own smaller ships approached from the sides, ready to assist as necessary. From above, the remaining defense fleet ships would serve to assist in pounding the rok into scrap. Hopefully.

"So, captains," Solomon said through the vox systems, his screens simultaneously displaying the bridges of all the ships involved. "I assume the plan is simple enough, but just to reiterate, Monitor captains, your goal?"

"To lure the ork rok into a crossfire pattern between our other ships and your own with a bombardment from our main cannons," one replied, the others nodding in agreement. "Should you be successful in fully disabling their engines when you flank them from below, then we continue our bombardment. If they draw too close, however, we must disengage as fast as possible, for our ships are slow, and ill-suited for space combat."

"The _High Diligence_ and our other ships will provide firepower on what we believe to be their primary bridge, though there is no real way of telling with the greenskins," Captain Renwara replied. "Should the engines be disabled in a timely manner, there is no reason as to why we will be unable to fracture this rok and destroy it completely."

"Be sure to keep your distance, there's no telling if the orks will try boarding actions at these distances," Solomon said. "Now then, prepare for a fight, I doubt we'll get another shot before the orks try to make planetfall. They should be closing in-,"

"Captain! Missiles across our bow!"

Seconds later, void shields shuddered amidst bright lights rippling across the very front of the ship. Solomon shielded his eyes momentarily, before the viewscreen dampeners filtered the incoming light. "All ships, open fire!" he commanded as more and more missiles, their bright trails visible against the inky blackness of space, flew out from the ork rok. He turned to the image of the defense fleet captain. "Since when did orks have missiles like this?"

"I told you, they used the same tactic on our capital ship," she replied as her screen shuddered, her main weapons beginning to fire. "The shields were overwhelmed by missiles and main weapons when they drew close, then they cleaved her in twain. They must be low on them, before the cloud was so thick we couldn't tell the difference between them and their cannon fire."

Why hadn't she told him about the rok capabilities before, when he'd asked? He thought orks were all about close-range weapons! "Well, note to self, don't get within range," Solomon muttered as the ork rok, weapons firing from every seemingly every surface, drifted by in the vacuum. Bright lances of light exploded over its surface from the guns of the other ships, but the rok was heavily armored, and the returning fire did little to halt its methodical advance.

"Engineering, get us behind that rok!" Syngra bellowed into the vox, her mechandrites flailing as they fiddled with countless knobs and levers. "We need those xenos engines offline, and we don't have a clear shot yet!"

"Sir! Outer void shields weakening, we're at ninety percent total, and dropping steadily!" a crewman shouted from his console, his vox blaring. "Eighty-eight percent!"

"All manned weapons, fire at will, keep the pressure on them!" Solomon ordered. "Main battery, hold fire until I give the command!" Everywhere in the bridge, consoles flared with lights and sounds as his entire cohort, Othore defense fleet and his own ship poured fire into the rok. Missiles streaked from the hulking mass slammed into one of his smaller corvettes, and jets of flame sprouted from the hull along the underside.

"Eighty percent!"

The view from the vox, as light shone from the voids shields blocking every missile, was one of utter pandemonium. The corvette hit badly was veering off, her captain likely trying to save her from total annihilation. If they made it, Solomon thought he'd have to give them a commendation for not ramming the enemy ship or something else stupidly sacrificial. The other corvettes of his poured fire into the rok, missiles streaking past most as they dodged as best they could. One to the right side of the rok wasn't lucky, and as a swarm of missiles impacted the prow of the smaller ship, it was engulfed in an enormous blast.

"Damn," Solomon muttered as the other viewscreens showed much the same. One of the Monitors was hit by a cluster of missiles so large, it simply ceased to be, vanishing in a massive plume of smoke and a short-lived fireball. The two Claymore corvettes flanked the Sword-class frigate with a precision Solomon couldn't help but admire as they poured fire into the greenskin vessel. Maybe someday he'd have a real fleet to do battle with, rather than just one ship, and with enough resources at his beck and call, he could take the fight to the enemies of man.

Down below in the bowels of his ship, countless numbers of men and women were pulling ropes to maneuver his main battery's shells into the great cannons. Auto-loaders were the first thing he planned to retrofit his ship with. Maybe they he could focus on adding more armament without needing a million crewmembers just to aim and reload the damn things. It was incredibly inefficient, never mind ripe for something to go wrong and a main gun to go offline because a riot broke out between the damn engineering crew and the loaders as to whose fault it was a round missed the target. He'd read Mechanicus ships could have auto-loaders, why not others?

The _Terra's Scion_ moving up behind the rok, a small counter formed on the corner of the bridge viewscreen. Aiming calculations were taking their time, but it'd only be a matter before-

"Sixty percent!" the crewman shouted. "Sir, the outermost shields have nearly failed!"

"Hold position, we need to take out their engines for good, or else this'll all have been for nothing!" he replied. "Syngra, the main battery, how deep will our rounds go into that rok?"

"Deep enough to do damage, knock out the engines at least, but as for more, I cannot say," she replied, her mechandrites flailing as wildly as tossed spaghetti. "No ork rok is the same, their layouts are as varied as orks themselves."

Up on the viewscreen, another of the corvettes peeled off, spouting fire from the underside, her crew likely desperate to try and seal off the breach before it vented all its atmosphere. The ork rok, in the meanwhile, seemed to be fairing little worse, even as large cracks and craters formed over the face of it from the sheer amount of fire being poured into it.

"Fifty percent! The outermost shields are offline!"

"Hold this position, all weapon batteries, keep firing!" Solomon commanded, turning to his vox screen. "Captains! What are your statuses?"

"Our shields are holding, but we can't take much more of this," Captain Renwara replied. "I have reports of fires and hull breaches in the decks of my two remaining Monitors, they must pull out, or we'll lose their guns for good!"

"Get them to move if they must, but they need to keep that fire on that rok, if the orks turn around, we won't have a shot on their engines!"

"Sir, we've got breaches, and the main weapons are damaged, our fire rate is slowed to a crawl," one of Solomon's corvette captains replied. "We'll get torn to shreds out here if we don't move."

"Come alongside the _Terra's Scion_ , there's no point in wasting a good crew if you can do better elsewhere," Solomon replied. "Syngra, main batteries?"

"Almost there, only need a few more moments," she replied as the damaged corvette drew between the rok and their own ship. "Captain, I'm reading a major energy spike within the rok, the orks are powering up something within!"

"All ships, keep the fire on them, move if you need but I don't want any guns silent!"

"Captain, we're hit!" a corvette called out, their image become garbled. "We're breached, we've lost the main batteries, and-,"

A bright flash in the darkness of space illuminated the other corvettes, as a shower of debris flew out in all directions. The orks missile… they hit the main ammo supply.

"Damn," Solomon whispered. He'd underestimated ork capabilities in space, now he'd have to find a way to keep the ammunition better guarded on his corvettes. Unless he did a major retrofit, or came across some better designs, there was no way he'd be able to do much more than simply add armor to their frames.

"Forty percent!"

"Syngra?"

"All weapons, ready to fire!"

Solomon roared into the comms. "Main batteries, fire at will!"

There was a solid thump, then another, and another, as weapons more powerful than anything else on the ship fired in quick succession, the whole ship reverberating as they left in a blaze of light and power. Streaking through the inky blackness of space, Solomon saw one, two, and then three impact the engines of the rok, massive explosions and bits of debris flying from the rok. The engines seemed to shudder, and then, suddenly, their lights went out. Missiles still poured from the behemoth structure, but she appeared dead in the water, so to speak. Some chunks of armor, larger than some Imperium ships, floated off of the still vessel, some being ripped apart by the number of missiles still being fired.

"Her engines are down!" Syngra called out, as another round from a main gun fired upon the rok.

"All ships, move away from the rok, but keep firing, we're going to crack her wide open!"

The fourth round said into the damage left behind by the other rounds, and seemed to be swallowed up by the rok. Then, there was a bright flash, emanating from the cracks and crevices within the rok. Puzzled, Solomon watched as the whole mass shuddered, more cracks forming in its entirety, and then, suddenly, bright spouts of flame shot out from every nook and cranny, reaching hundreds of meters out. The ship appeared to be turning into a massive ball of fire, as smaller explosions rocketed off debris in massive amounts.

Realization hit him like a space marine's power fist. "Oh shit! Everyone, pull back! Pull back now!"

It was too late. As every ship's siren flared, and every single crew member started shouting into the vox systems, there was a bright flash, and then everything exploded.

* * *

Private Catillo enjoyed his time outside the walls of the moon base. Talmanjir had very nice weather; if it wasn't sunny and a bit breezy, it remained foggy but usually calm. Nice and quiet, and if you didn't mind hanging up whatever uniforms weren't covered in oil from working on prototype mechs near a heater inside the grounds, then the constant moisture wasn't so bad either. He'd already learned the hard way not to put something soaked in flammable liquid near a source of radiant heat.

The small landing pads within the fortress grounds were already being used as secondary rooftops for a variety of homes springing up, the firm rock beneath making for an easily pliable and excellent building material for the refugees of Woebus that had stayed in the base. So, just in case there were greater needs, a larger landing pad had been constructed on the outside of the walls, protected by a series of watchtowers, a (for the moment) small wall around it, and patrols around the perimeter. Then again, there were always patrols around the whole area, including through whatever small towns or villages were cropping up from the refugees and settlers.

Lights in the sky above made Catillo pause from his marching, several of the other troops pausing as well. The shape of the small shipyard above was usually visible on a clear night or against the backdrop of Mastuonus Tertius below. However, there was a larger ship above this day, larger than the _Terra's Scion_.

"Sir, are you seeing this?"

"Sure am Private, wonder who they might be," his sergeant replied, removing her helmet. "Solomon's not supposed to be back for a couple months at least." She paused, her command vox channel beeping. "Hold on, getting' a call."

Catillo watched silently as his superior said little into the vix, merely nodding or adding a "yes sir" every now and then. After she finished, she sighed, which to Catillo, was not a good sign.

"We're getting company," she said. "Everyone, get ready to receive, but don't shoot. I'd prefer we live through the day and find out just what our guests want before anything stupid happens."

"Who is coming?" another guardsman asked.

"Some representative of the Inquisition, don't know who, but they're important enough that they're on the list."

"List? What list?"

"The list Solomon left behind. If anyone from that list contacted us, we were to receive them in any way we could, at least until he gets back. Thankfully they're not on the other list."

"The other list?"

"The list of people to shoot on sight."

* * *

For the first time in what felt like months, Delvidia Warmak sat quietly in what counted as her office, the needs of her planet, for once, sated. No need to stay up late that night pouring over the workers forming brigades to fight fires during the coming wintry dry season, no mention of any trouble with the Crenon women fighting over the Woebus men anymore, and not even trouble with some of the local agricultural guilds fighting over who would replant the fields devastated by the xenos raid. The rebuilding of her world had gone smoothly, even with the grumbling of more than one local noble, but that was all taken care of for the time being, and enjoying the roaring fire in front of her, and the relaxation it offered her, was more important than the squabbling of rival families.

No, for once, she sat back, enjoying a good glass of wine, the roaring fireplace sending a comforting heat into her bones. Well, she did enjoy wine often, but now she could do so without thinking of anything that didn't truly matter to her.

Running the planet for her family name, and for her own legacy, was something she'd thought of time and time again for years. It was important to continue what her ancestors had started, to remain in power and keep the name of her family in good standing, or at least, in power. She was young, healthy, and well on her way to establishing her dynasty as a powerhouse in an area of the Imperium where agriworlds were not the primary seats of power within a system, or so often overlooked they were barely of any importance. Yet, they were important, for they supplied the food that fueled the engines of the Imperium's war machine, and fed countless other worlds that would not be able to do so on their own. No, with her own meddling, a fair bit of luck, and a new, rather innocently roguish and dashing wrinkle added to the mix, things were indeed shaping up for her and her world, and even the surrounding systems.

The fall of former governor Orchus was regrettable, but the new governor of Vaeria Primus was eager to resume deals with her. The Tertians in her own system had been groveling as of late, if only because they lost a good number of men to that heretical governor, and as such, needed some new blood. Given that a man also technically owned the moon above their world, and that man wasn't going to punish them for the crimes of their dead's allegiance, made them even more willing to agree to practically any terms she came up with… within reason, of course. She wasn't a complete tyrant, she knew when diplomacy worked better than violence, and vice versa.

Other, more outlying systems had also fallen under her web. The vehicles produced on Vaeria Primus and tested on her own world had greatly improved agricultural production, and as such, more than a few governors had come to her, or at least sent representatives, to hammer out deals to acquire these designs for themselves. Few if any questioned where they came from or how she had found them first, let alone the truth of the matter, but she cared little for that. The agriworlds in nearby systems were already reaping the rewards of these new partnerships, and soon, by word of mouth or exchanges between governors, other nearby systems would come to her as well, seeking information and possible deals.

Mastuonus Primus was indeed becoming well-connected, and not because of her. No, it was because she had thought it best to humor a young, fresh-faced Rogue Trader, and now that decision was reaping her rewards she could have only dreamed of. Of course, the next logical step would be to do something about Solomon, to cement their relationship even further. She had enjoyed her time with him by his pool… and in his bed… and in his shower… oh, and on the desk… but really, that was just one step. He was hers, all right, but there were others out there that could attempt to steal him away from her.

She would have to take things up a notch, in time, especially if she believed him to falling away from her grasp. How she would do so, however, was still up in the air, as there were many choices, and thus many possible outcomes to consider. As much as she liked him, more than she cared to admit, which was still significant, he was still a tool in her political arsenal, to be used when it suited her the best. So, sipping her wine, and staring into the flames, she thought in silence on the future of her relationship, her world, and indeed her very heart, as cold, dry winds whipped around the outside of her mansion.

* * *

Fengil was glad she didn't have to sleep in the cold, sterile walls of the mon'keigh vault anymore. No, out among the trees and the rocks and the little waterways flowing everywhere, it seemed almost like home. Of course, nothing could compare to the craftworld she had come from, but still, it was better than being cooped up in what amount to a big metal box.

Of course, that meant she had more time to think, as did her mother, when the weird mon'keigh captain wasn't talking with her, and that meant Fengil had to listen to her mother try and make sense of things. The other two Eldar weren't usually grumpy, preferring to either spar or meditate, though they didn't seem to care for her presence, unless she was still and quiet.

Fengil had a hard time being either of those things. Despite the upbringing on Ulthwe, she was naturally curious, and exploring the area they had been given as their refuge was first and foremost on her mind. The distant thumps and sounds of cheering didn't really matter to her, the mon'keigh must have been celebrating some holiday or something. Her mother seemed anxious, but Fengil didn't pay that any mind.

Then a siren sounded, wailing like a beast calling out in pain. Fengil had no idea what it meant, but it filled her with a sense of unease, and cautiously, she began to clamber down from the uppermost branches of the tree. Save for the siren, everything was silent, and still.

That all changed when the entire ship lurched suddenly, as if struck by something massive. Fengil, having reached the lower branches, fell, narrowly managing to unsteadily land on her feet with the grace befitting her kind. The others jumped to attention, armor and weapons at the ready as her mother stood quickly.

"Mother, what is happening?" Fengil asked. She kept a tight lid on her emotions, as all Eldar did, lest She Who Thirsts come for her very soul.

"The ship has been under siege for some time, young one, but we tried to ignore it," Teltyra replied. Curse her ignorance, believing this to be some simple skirmish that the human had so blindly thought would be simple! "The mon'keigh has, to borrow a crude colloquialism from his kind, "bitten off more than he can masticate". I sense his mind is… unwell."

"That's bad, isn't it?" Fengil asked.

"Very much so, daughter. He is a key to a puzzle we cannot afford to let slip away. The first chance we have, we must contact Ulthwe and send for as many reinforcements as we can muster. There is little else we can do for the time being, but wait for an opening."

"Then what do we do?"

"It is, for lack of a better word, simple, Fengil: we take the captain."

 **A/N: wow, it's been some time since my last update, hasn't it? *Checks last chapter publish date***

 **Wow… three months? Time flies in winter in the US Midwest, that's for sure. I've noticed over the years that lack of sunlight and shorter daylight hours can really make for a dip in writing quality during winter.**

 **Well, sorry for the long wait, I had a lot on my plate as of recently. I got a job with all sorts of screwy hours (mornings some days, evenings others, little time for hobbies outside of life priorities), recently self-published a book on Amazon (to be part of a longer series) and have been trying to make sense of what WH40K is and where it is going, and what I can do in the setting without it just going absolute bonkers. Combined with just a slight burnout from writing I suffer from time to time, as well as attempting to plow through things before I get bored and go off do other things (games, reading, etc), this chapter took a lot longer than I had originally planned.**

 **So, to do better in the future, I'd like to ask you, the fans, to include ideas of what I could do. Keep in mind I'm not going to do anything crazy, like march into Terra and resurrect the Emperor with the power of rock n' roll, which would be awesome, but the fact is that coming up with my own ideas, as well as collaborating, can be tough. I have events planned for the next… ten chapters or so, but after that, it's a bit iffy. A simple review/comment or a PM would be good, and I'll file the ideas, but keep in mind that there is only so much I can include, and I still must work it all together.**

 **That, and making sure everything in my life is all set before continuing is a top priority. Everything is stable for now, so it shouldn't be near as long before the next chapter comes out.**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty Five**

"We are approaching the inner portion of the system now," one of the bridge crew stated, a terminal flashing with all sorts of computational data. "Scans indicate fields of debris, many circling the planet in high orbit and at great speed. Clusters of ships detected on the far side of the world, above the spaceport."

"Then, assuming he is alive, that is where our "friend" should be," Adept Baramus said, more to himself. Entering the system several weeks before had been business as usual, though as they drew closer to the main planetary orbits, it became clear this was anything but an ordinary battle.

For one, the wreckage fields were spread over a large area of space, indicating more than just one battle. The wreckage of a large cruiser, its beacon signifying it as the _Pride of Othore_ , was spread out, the halves drifting further and further apart as small explosions occasionally rocked their surfaces. Other scattered debris fields, in localized pockets, showed where a ship or two had been torn apart by greenskin weaponry. Size-wise, one was clearly a Monitor-class, but the others, the debris fields indicated their sizes were too small to have been local defense fleet. Whose ships were they, and how had they arrived, seeing as there was no trace of Warp drive upon their wreckage? Just another piece to the puzzle that would need to be found and accounted for.

The ork rok was, well, much less of a rok than it had been. Massive shards of the "vessel" were scattered about in an uneven manner, with the debris field covering a truly enormous amount of open space. Whatever had doomed the xenos vessel had either been a monstrously powerful weapon, or more likely, something had detonated within the rok itself. Knowing the orks, one of them must have fired a shoota right into a pile of ammunition, or smacked the powah core with a wrench one too many times.

As the _Far Horizon_ reached the far side of the planet, the remnants of the Othore fleet coming into view, Baramus shook his head at the vox screen. Whatever ships weren't studded with wreckage or nearly gutted were scarred as could be. There was a cluster of smaller ships, of a design he did not recognize, in a screen around another one, some in need of serious repair, others seeming to be docking with the larger vessel. This ship, the largest of the remaining fleet, had bright lights flickering over its hull, likely small teams of whatever counted as technicians working on repair. From what the beacon register told him, this was the _Terra's Scion_ , and in addition to scoring along most of the front portion of the ship, it also had a massive gash along its side, like an ugly knife wound. A glancing blow from the surely massive blast from the rok upon detonation? Surely its shields had been holding up until then?

"Sir, we're being hailed," one of the bridge communicators said. "Broadcasting on the Imperial frequency."

"Put them on."

The vox screen was a bit fuzzy from the other side, but a team of what looked like guardsmen and servitors were busy moving large piles of debris around. In fact, most of what Baramus could see of the bridge was a complete mess; shattered consoles, broken equipment, and what looked like shrapnel here and there. There were even a few bodies, covered by large white sheets, so ultimately, even the bridge had taken moderate damage in the fight against the orks, despite how strong the void shields should have been.

The power of the rok explosion must have been more terrible than he had originally estimated.

"Thank the Emperor," a voice said, an officer coming into light. "Janeve Stell, acting bridge captain of the _Terra's Scion_ , with whom are we speaking?"

"This is Adept Baramus of the Adeptus Mechanicus, with Inquisitor Triggerus as my guest," the machine man replied. "We wish to come aboard and speak with the one known as Captain Solomon, for we have questions for him pertaining to a great many rumors surrounding him." He didn't feel like listing a wide range of those questions, and besides, no need for formalities when the other captain's ship was clearly not going anywhere soon.

"The captain is… somewhat indisposed for the time being," she replied. "He should be available shortly, though it would be best done in person aboard his own ship."

"Why can he not move to ours for his questioning?"

"I think it's best if you ask him that, he's unlikely to be cooperative if he's forced into a corner, or feels threatened."

"Why would he be threatened? All we wish to do is talk."

"Then you'll have to talk on this ship, sirs. Forgive me, it's the captain's orders. You may bring who you wish, but you are tentatively limited to a single shuttle."

Baramus looked to Triggerus. "I find it odd that he would not wish to speak with us on our own vessel."

"He is wise to be wary, he does not have experience with those like us," the Inquisitor replied. "He feels safe on his own vessel, as damaged as it is, and I doubt he'd want to be elsewhere is we sent in someone to do some snooping around. If he is hiding something, it'll come out in his questioning, and I'd rather he be more forthcoming than defensive."

"Then on his own ship it will be. Acting-captain, we will honor your terms and come aboard with only a single shuttle, and no more," Baramus said, turning back to the vox. "We shall arrive shortly with our cohort, make sure to warn whatever hangar crew we might encounter. I do not wish for this first meeting to end in a standoff, or worse, as we have traveled too far and experienced too much for all of this be a fruitless waste of time."

"Understood, if you must reach me, here is the channel to my personal vox," she replied, a small stream of letters and numbers flickering across the bottom of the screen. "I suggest you move with all due haste, the captain is a patient man, but does not like thinking he is being led on."

Pomp and circumstance aside, boarding one ship from the other was a routine affair in the Imperium, usually through shuttles. Teleportation within the realm of man wasn't as reliable as it once was, and frankly, nobody really knew how it worked, other than utilizing the Warp as the means of transport, and even then it took massive amounts of power and resources, and whoever _was_ being teleported had a good chance of dying, going insane, or just flat out lose their soul. Given that his own ship did not carry such a device, and that usually only space marines could handle such a trip, Baramus was than happy to move down to the hangar to fly on over. So, with his own ship drawing in close enough to the damaged cruiser, Adept Baramus looked at the small retinue he had assembled. Triggerus the Inquisitor, of course, who was under penalty of several fairly nasty punishments should he try and execute the Rogue Trader Solomon without provocation. Well, under the threats of the Mechanicus, who he was technically a guest and at this point unnecessary passenger of.

Other than that, a collection of highly trained Skitarii, some fairly tough-looking Stormtroopers belonging to Triggerus, a small crew of servitors (mostly for recording the exchange) and a pilot nearly as machine as Baramus himself, though due to a promethium refinery explosion rather than willing subservience to the will of the Machine God. All were armed to the teeth, but dressed to impress, as well as hopefully intimidate, should Baramus need to apply "pressure" to this unique captain. That, and his own ship was not damaged, and had a greater amount of firepower to immediately bring to bear, should things turn ugly.

Loading everyone into the shuttle did not take very long, and while the large cruiser seemed close, it was still a fairly uncomfortable few minutes of flight between the two colossal war machines of the Imperium, seeing as how cramped the shuttle was.

"What do you think we will find?" Triggerus asked, in a rather uncharacteristic state of relative calm. The withdrawal from recaf hadn't been easy on the man, but after a few weeks of none being available in his favorite flavor, he'd been a bit more agreeable. At least, more agreeable than he used to be, anyway.

"Within the ship?" the adept replied. "Unknown, the variables are too great to reliably predict much of anything. A friendly greeting? A wary reception? Or a hostile ambush, waiting to take prisoners or outright execute us?"

"Why execute us when they could just shoot us out of space? We're more than close enough for their guns to at least nick us, and I don't think you can do any better in a vacuum than me."

"Again, unknown, I will compile a greater list of possibilities in some of my memory banks as we progress," Baramus replied. "Let the servitors record what we have for posterity, if anything.

"Approaching the main hangar," the pilot announced in a voice even more synthetic than that of the adept. "Docking signals are a go, hangar area is registering as mostly clear."

The shuttle shuddering as it passed through several void shields, far fewer than what should have been, Baramus felt the shuttle spin slightly, and then with a gentle ease of pressure, it settled down.

The adept rose as the Skitarii moved out of the shuttle's opening ramp first, intent on securing the area. After them, the Stormtroopers and the servitors, with him and the Inquisitor following up shortly afterwards. Immediately, the adept could tell things were not quite right. His troopers had their arms all trained on the same item, which towered over them by more than several meters. It immediately reminded him of a dreadnaught, but had a body more in line with a Knight. It was also covered in a bright red paint, crimson if he had to make a more specific detail, and though it held no weapons in its mechanical hands, it did seem to have a very large bolter-like weapon slung across its back.

There was a hiss, and a large armored hatch slid up and backwards, revealing the uppermost portion of a man at what must have been the main controls, a helmet with large cables trailing from it covering the upper half of his head. "Greetings," he said, his uniform similar to a guardsmen, but with more tassels and a fairly unusual assortment of extra details and pieces. "I was told to expect a representative of both the Imperil Inquisition and the Adeptus Mechanicus, not a raiding party."

"We are no raiding party, these troops are merely a small retinue of mine, to ensure my personal protection" Baramus replied, not sure if telling his troops to lower their weapons was yet the correct course of action. This could, after all, yet be a ruse. "I am one of the representatives, and by the authority of both aforementioned organizations, I wish to speak with your captain, Solomon."

"Well, normally I'd direct you to the bridge, but after what happened… the captain's been a bit busy," the man said. "We all have, actually, repairs are a bitch without the proper materials. We're using whatever scrap we've got to make do, but we're gonna need a lot more to fix what those greenskins broke."

"What happened? Your ship seems fairly damaged for having been in a fight where the orks _didn't_ try to board."

"Ork rok blew up after taking a few of our own with it, void shields took the brunt of the damage but we still got hit, hard too," the man said, shaking his head. "Several decks were evacuated and vented to stop some of the fires. From what we can gather, we're all set now, just need to repair what we can, sir."

"Did the captain survive? You mentioned the bridge was not where he'd be."

"Bridge got hit harder than we'd thought it would, captain's survived but needed some surgery to remove some shrapnel. Barely got out of the medical bay a few days ago, and has been practically running his ship out of the research and development section."

Baramus did not know what this research and development station was, but it would be a good thing to investigate immediately, especially if that was the current whereabouts of the Rogue Trader. "Be that as it may, I still wish to speak with him."

"As he expected you might," the man said, pressing a button in his large, strange exosuit. "I will escort you to him, I'm sure he was expecting one of you chaps to show up at some point." His large latch sliding back into place, and locking with an audible clang, the massive machine turned and, with a dexterity most suits like his did not possess, motioned for the party to follow.

Triggerus turned to the adept as, with their guards flanking them from all angles, they followed the lumbering mech. "Can I shoot him?"

"He'd plaster your organs against the nearest bulkhead the moment you tried to," the adept said, eyeing up the machine in front of him. Definitely not a design he'd ever seen before, though it appeared to contain the basics of an Imperial knight, as well as several concepts that surely stemmed not only from dreadnaughts, but also… servitors? It was a strange amalgamation that not only seemed well-put together, but far less likely to suffer from some of the problems any of those other creations experienced, at the cost of available firepower and overall durability.

How had the Rogue Trader come across such a unique specimen? Surely a forge world had built such a fine piece of engineering, after several millennia of tinkering and praising the Machine God? It was the only logical possibility, unless… no, no, the Mechanicum did not allow for such tinkering, to do so was dangerous in the extreme. The Men of Iron were the result of such folly, none would be so insane, save for the Dark Mechanicum, to try and attempt such a thing…

Then again, if this strange man was indeed from the rise of the Imperium, or even before… he might not have such a view. He might even… no, he dare not dream it, Baramus dare not dream of what this man could know, what he could be capable of. Better to find out for himself, and report his findings, and failing that, bring the captain, bound, before the High Lords of Terra themselves.

If they ever got around to doing anything useful, that is; stupid geriatric geezers.

Passing through several large doors, the bulkheads to which were fairly reinforced, Baramus found himself in what had likely been a large cargo room, for when the previous captains hauled shipments of goods and looted treasures between worlds. No, now it was covered in all sorts of sorting units, with some areas cleared for what seemed to be either space to move mechs around, or targets along the far wall. Others seemed to house machinery he did not immediately recall being available on ships of this size, fabricators and such, and while he knew most ships did carry schematic readers, in the off-chance of finding something important in a wreck or on an abandoned world, he knew of none that had… so many.

Ah! He recognized a familiar form at one of the tables, that of another Adept. Their mechandrites whirring frantically across a slew of materials, they seemed to be putting the finishing touches on a large pair of barrels, connected to what looked like a repurposed fuel tank. If Baramus had to guess, it'd be that the size was ideal for the hands of the mech that was their guide, it being far too large for a guardsmen or even a space marine to use.

Just what was it, though?

"Adept Syngra, our guests have arrived," the mech said, the pilot's voice rather gravelly over the loudspeaker that, judging from the volume and direction, was built into the front of the main chassis. He moved off to the side, massive mechanical arms at its side, as if waiting for something... or someone.

"Wondrous," the adept replied, turning around. "An armed party, I am not surprised. In the same situation, had I not come to a realization many months ago, I too would have done. What brings you aboard the _Terra's Scion_ , brother? The Mechanicus does not usually send members out this far into the Imperium's inner regions unless they deem it important."

A female adept? Baramus lived a secluded life, certainly, but he knew that not many captains of starships had the pleasure of a female adept. Usually things did not work out well between them and the crew for reasons he did not care for. "Sister, I am Baramus, and with my cohort is a representative of the Imperial Inquisition, Triggerus. Our mission was to originally transcribe a dataslate, upon which we found the coordinates for a small scout ship. Inside, what little we could gleam told us the ship used to have but a single piece of cargo, and failing to find that, we have tracked rumors and hearsay across a quarter of the Imperium to find it, and now, finally, we have achieved that goal."

"You were tracking the original contents? I'm sure he'd be flattered to hear you say that, if it didn't sound somewhat nefarious."

"There was no ill intent in mind, sister, nor will there be if he cooperates. We have come to see for ourselves this "Captain Solomon" we have heard tales of, and if he will comply, speak with us."

"Comply? You make it sound as if you're trying not to force him to speak with you, even if he accepted your invitation aboard his ship," she replied, her mechandrites returning to her sides. "He does wish to speak with you, but does not want to feel threatened. I would suggest your troops lower their arms, there is no need for such force of arms."

"I am afraid I cannot allow that until I know we are not in danger," Triggerus replied. "We have received information from more than several sources that the captain has been doing things… strange."

"Strange how?"

"Strange, as in things others find unusual," Baramus replied. "Tell us of what you have just finished creating, for instance. A weapon for your curious mechs, constructed from the designs left from the printout of a STC fragment?"

"Well, no, brother. This design comes from no STC, nor does it come directly from the collection of tools we have records of developed during the Great Crusade. It is merely the integration of several designs of older pieces we already have, with a few ideas and changes from the captain himself. My team has also helped, though they are busy at the moment elsewhere."

"An innovation?" Triggerus asked. "What kind of blasphemy is this?"

"No more blasphemy than allowing mankind to suffer from a lack of understanding and stifling self-hatred," Syngra replied. "Baramus, the mech you noted, before you ask, they too are not designed from the printout of a STC fragment. They are unique constructions, with completely different functions and forms from what they are based off of."

"Surely they must be from a printout, or even a fabricator remnant, as such construction and design is not a capability of anyone outside of our order," he replied.

"Nay, I assure you, they too are a combination of what we already have, plus several ideas from the captain. He has gone through great lengths to gather as much information he can on what the Imperium possesses, be it in armament, ships, civilian vehicles, building materials, and even food processing. It is amazing what he can do with a little time and the fairly exchangeable pieces and parts of what so much of our technology contains."

"But why?"

"To make life better for all in the Imperium."

"Innovation is a violation-,"

"Innovation is the foundation for everything we have!" a voiced boomed, and from behind a large stack of shipping crates, a mech strode forth. This mech, however, was not as large as the one from before. It still stood about three heads taller than the largest person in the room, near the same size as a space marine, but it moved with a fluid grace that seemed far more unusual. Wielding a large bolter in one hand, as easily as one might wield a laspistol, the other carried a large sword, far too large for even the strongest space marine to use. A series of tubes exited the armored back, facing slightly downwards, and the feet bore mechanical boots with spikes sheathed in downward-facing tubes.

The troops raised their weapons even as the mech moved towards them, sheathing the sword in a large scabbard across its back. "Innovation is the key to mankind no longer fearing what lurks in the dark, Inquisitor."

"Who are you?" Baramus asked as he saw the Inquisitor's finger itch towards his bolter pistol.

A hatch slid back, revealing a man somewhat obscured by a large, shimmering plate of glass. "You're on my ship," he replied. "I think that's as much on that as you need to know."

"So, Captain Solomon, we meet at last. Forgive my compatriot, he is a little… uneasy of your creations," Baramus answered, himself not sure whether to spasm in rage or writhe in wonder at what he was encountering. "I was tasked to find your location, and after having missed you several times, occasionally by sheer chance, I have finally caught up with you."

"It would seem so. What do you want?"

"To know more about you, to learn what you know, if you care to share it with me."

Solomon stared at him. "Doesn't sound like there'll be many other options than that."

"Well, I think its best they stay off the table, I do not like using the "or else" option," Baramus said. "We of the Mechanicus are not completely unreasonable when it comes to tech-heresy. We do not simply order an Exterminatus or issue a warrant of assassination on a whim, we prefer to iron out details and come to reasonable conclusions on our own."

"Really?" An arched eyebrow was all Solomon cared to add. "Well then, let me explain something to you, much as I had to Syngra. You are right, I'm not from this time."

"From the logs of the ship you were recovered from, I surmised as such. You are from the beginning of the Imperium, when the Man-Emperor united the warring factions of Terra, and turned his attention towards the stars." As much as he didn't care for the term, the Adept had to admit it was a bit catchier and more relatable than "God-Emperor".

"No," Solomon replied. "Most of my memories have returned, some more clearly than others, but I can tell you I never met the Emperor."

"Surely you must have, we believe he might have been the one to send you away from Terra. Even though meeting the Emperor in person, it was told, was cause for the person to be struck dumb, they could never forget such an occasion."

"I never met him because I never said I was from the time of your Imperium. The Terra, the Earth I remember, was nothing like what it must be now. I am from far before then."

"The Dark Age of Technology?"

"No, before then."

"The Age of Strife?"

"Before then even; I am from when Terra's first manned ventures into space had happened in the time of my parent's youth, when no human had moved farther than the orbit of our moon."

"Inconceivable!" Triggerus blurted out, taking a (in Baramus' opinion) brash step forward. "No human, save for the Emperor, has lived as long! Save for one other case we know of, of course, but he is an exception!"

"Is he now?" Solomon asked. "I'm not like him; well, I am, but also I'm not. We have different goals in mind, though the same overall objective. Right now, I'll stay away from him, he's off doing his own thing, and I'll do my own."

"Does he mean the millen-" one of the Stormtroopers began to whisper, before a Skitarii smacked him upside the head.

"Quiet, I'm trying to listen!"

"So, you claim that you are tens of thousands of years old," Baramus said, his servitors recording every scrap of conversation and video they could. "Regardless of the validity of that declaration, that still leaves me with my original question: just what are you doing?"

"Right now, trying to figure out how to store enough refillable fuel for the jumpjets without needing a massive pack of fuel on my suit's back," Solomon replied. "Other than trying to survive in this crazy galaxy, I want to make things better."

"Better for who?"

"Better for mankind, if I can help it. Innovation is not something to be feared, but to be encouraged, if not at least directed in this grim, dark future I woke up in. Mankind has been held back for far too long, and if we're going to continue to survive, and even push back the ever-encroaching darkness, then we'll need to try and come up with news ways of doing so, not just relying on tried and true, if old and ineffective, methods."

"That is what the Emperor declared when he united Terra," Triggerus countered. "Do you think yourself as the Emperor?"

"Of course not! For one, I'm not a psyker for one, I'm from way before that, and two, since when is wanting better for mankind something only the Emperor has done? Others throughout history have wanted much the same, it's just the Emperor was the first one in all of history to actually accomplish unifying mankind. Mankind is mostly united, we're just stagnating like a sack of rotten eggs mixed with old broccoli. That is something we were never meant to do."

"How can you be so sure?"

"The entirety of human history, from the very birth of our civilization, was about bettering things for ourselves. As a whole, mankind does not stop advancing, or at least didn't stop until the Mechanicus put the kibosh on any and all technological innovation. Well, I say, to the Warp with that nonsense."

"Talk such as that will earn you enemies."

"Mankind has enough enemies as it is, I doubt adding another will make much difference. I'm more interested in allies who want to see some shit get done. We're in a state of total war, yet nobody seems to care that actually trying to change things can help us in our battles, both occurring and coming in the immediate future!"

"How would you even go about obtaining allies such as these?" Baramus asked. If he could convince this strange man to… assist his order…

"Doing favors for them: I scratch their backsides, they scratch mine, so to speak."

"I've never heard of such a phrase."

"It's older than I am, so no, you wouldn't. Besides, I have things I know you'd want, and I'd be more than willing to give them to you."

Baramus cocked his head to the side. "For a price, I imagine."

"Don't fight me on this, or what I do; help me in whatever need you feel you can, or at the very least, tolerate my existence and what I do," Solomon replied. "Your organization is vast, and has the power to either cripple whatever I'm doing, or make it succeed beyond what I could have dreamt. That's up to you and your people to decide. I will, in exchange for your "partnership", hand over everything I have developed at the end of every Terran year, bringing it to the nearest Mechanicus-controlled world and turning it over to your forces, without protest, as a tithe. If for some reason, I cannot arrive at the scheduled time, feel free to arrange to meet me for it, as I will have likely been held up by something else."

"What do you want in exchange? Surely you want more than to be left alone."

"While I'd appreciate the plans to a Titan, I doubt some of your higher-ups would allow for that. For starters, contact with other realms of the Imperium, especially some of these lesser space marine chapters I've read up on. I think you know the ones, they aren't doing too good, and I'd like to try and help them if I can."

"I am certain contacting them would not be much of a problem," Triggerus said. Some of the higher-ups in some of those near-extinct chapters owed him favors, which he could collect on now that he had a possibly reason to call them in.

"I'm also interested in your ships, specifically, the auto-loaders and your building processes. That, and repairs for my own. I want to build fleets and armies some day to challenge the forces attacking man, but without your help, it'll be slow as all Warp, and likely will fail. I don't like failing."

"Building ships is hardly such an easy task as you make it out to be, it can take years for even a dedicated forge world to craft our vessels," Triggerus said. "Why do you wish for this?"

"I know some things that can help your ships, from my own knowledge of history and the times I myself lived in, as well as have a few ideas on how to speed up production. In exchange, I will also give you schematics and building materials for these ships. I only ask that you not infringe on whatever resources I begin to harvest through my own methods."

"Mining guilds will not be happy if you looking to move in on their work."

"Where I'm going, mining guilds haven't the foggiest clue how to do what I'm going to do or need. Besides, if I want them involved, I'll order from them as needed. On top of that, if you don't mind, I'd like my ship retrofitted and repaired, as soon as possible."

Baramus found his mind struggling with a quandary. By all rights, he should execute this man as soon as possible, or call for reinforcements to detain him until someone higher up the ranks could deal with him. however, the problem with that was the man's charter, basically granting him near-immunity from most things in the Imperium, save for high treason of course. He had the (in the mind of Baramus, incredibly stupid) right to expand and do whatever he wanted, including thumb his nose at the Mechanicus if he so wished. Yet, he was offering what he had, without hostility, for a low price, and if the order ever deemed him a significant threat, terminating him would unlikely be an issue. Whatever he had locked in his mind was clearly focused on helping mankind, so… was it possible the Machine God was attempting to speak through him? It wouldn't be the first time non-augmented humans had been so driven to develop technology. How else had the Age of Technology been achieved?

It still barely made up for the fact that what he was doing was not acceptable, save for if the Mechanicus order… encouraged him to working for them.

"Your earlier terms could be… accepted, especially your ship's repairs and retrofit, but you will need to offer more if I can attempt to convince my superiors to aid you, and not simply hunt you down," Baramus said.

"The same for my own, as scattered and few as they are these days, what with the rest just up and vanishing after arriving at Terra," Triggerus added.

Solomon looked to Syngra, who simply nodded. Retrieving a large codex from the table, she pressed a button, and instantly a small projection of light appeared before them. It bore detailed schematics of a large suit of armor, complete with details on the number of finely crafted parts, overall materials needed, training time and integration mechanics for the pilots, and even a list of available weapons that could be fitted to its frame. She flicked the end of one of her mechandrites across the screen, and the image shifted to that of a large vehicle, with massive rows of crop harvesting equipment atop of a chassis built to use a small anti-grav generator. Another swipe revealed a ship built around a large, singular cannon, designed for planetary fleet defense and enemy base annihilation.

"This is our present to you, Brother Baramus," Syngra replied. "Solomon and I have worked almost day and night on this format, but given how well it has turned out, I should think several higher-ups within our order will be more than unusually happy with it."

"What is it?"

"It is the equivalent of a Standard Template Construct in our own times, though obviously nowhere near as advanced," Syngra said. "It contains all we have worked on since Solomon awoke from his slumber, as well as interconnected points of information regarding everything correlated to them, and everything else we've found on our own and have yet to decipher. It can show what materials are to be used in construction and what can be substituted, differing equations to deal with gravity anomalies on larger or smaller worlds, instructions for building machines designed to build just the parts needed for the machines; it is nothing compared to what has been left behind to us, scattered across the galaxy, but it is a start of something hopefully galaxy-changing."

Baramus nearly oiled his robes. "Is it… compatible with what has been left behind?"

"Indeed, one might think of this as a bridge between our technology and the technology of ages past. It can read any fragments of STC printouts or data codices, or at least any we've since come across and collected, and then translate them as need be. It is also capable of storing vast quantities of knowledge in a format that is shielded from both radiation and electromagnetic pulses, though it is still relatively physically fragile. We've, of course, made more than a few hundred copies of this piece of Imperium engineering, anticipating your arrival, and will gift them to you, to spread to the Mechanicus and the rest of the Imperium… along with something else."

"What else would you offer?" Triggerus asked.

"We will add one more offer to this deal, should you be willing to accept it," Solomon said. "All STC fragments we find, no matter how obscure, difficult to retrieve or incomplete, will be copied and made available for you, to be given freely with every tithe. You may do with them what you wish, but they will only be included when and if we find them. Should we find them between tithes, whereupon you somehow learn of them and wish to have them immediately, then merely seek my audience, and they will be yours."

Baramus was not entirely sure why Triggerus was smiling beside him. This… Solomon still had a lot to answer for, but if this was a deal he was offering, then he knew neither of them could pass up such an opportunity. All organizations within the Imperium held grudges against one another, exchanging blows in proxy wars or cold conflicts that could sometimes span the galaxy. The search for STC fragments was one of the most fiercely fought conflicts within the Imperium's political theater.

So, of course, someone offering to simply _hand over priceless relics of ancient technology_ was not going to be on an immediate Mechanicus shit-list. No, they were to be protected, until they inevitably tried to betray those they worked with or outlived their usefulness. Or the higher-ups decided they didn't want someone like that possibly working for their enemies. Or they fell down the stairs and happened to break their neck in five places despite eyewitnesses swearing there was a shadowy figure behind them moments before they fell.

"I accept your offer, captain, though it will definitely take time to iron out the minute details of the matter," Baramus said. "I will have to inform my superiors of this, so it might be some time before things are handled."

"I accept as well, on the behalf of the Inquisition," Triggerus replied. "I too will have to inform my colleagues, though I doubt most of the remaining ones will object to such a… generous offer."

"Then onto the matter at hand," Solomon said, setting down his sidearm. "I need my ship fixed as best it can, and retrofitted. Where might I be able to do that?"

"If my superiors deem you worthy of such an honor, considering this deal, then they will direct us to take you to the nearest major shipyard," Baramus replied. "I take it your vessel's engines and Gellar fields are still working?"

"Thankfully so, no problems with those, but I still have repairs on some of the vented decks and shield generators that need doing, or else I'll never survive another engagement."

"Then I would be happy to assist you with that. I will send for some of my acolytes and servitors to begin repairing the outer levels of your ship," Baramus said. "I will simply need to reach your communications array to send for them, as well as have your astropath contact my immediate superiors."

"That I can do as well." Solomon inwardly sighed. He'd been afraid this wouldn't have gone near as well as it had, but then again, it could be better. Being paid for what he found in planets or even mining rights would have been nice, but hey, not being attacked by a full Mechanicus war fleet wasn't so bad, all things considered.

"After that, however, we are going to need to sit down and discuss a few matters with you," Triggerus added. "Your quarters will suffice, as my friend and I still have many more questions for you."

The inward sigh became a small inward grimace. Well, again, it could be worse.

 **A/N: well, a close call to be sure, given what I've read on the Inquisition and Mechanicus, but hey, things look like they may be taking a fairly big upswing for Solomon here. Let's hope that continues for at least some time before a whole bunch of stuff happens.**

 **Also, many thanks to all the comments and reviews left by readers and collaborators/prereaders for the story's progression, outline, plot ideas, details, and whatever else I can fix. I will likely be doing moderate revisions to earlier chapters, with added details/fixing up some errors, but other than that, I think the story is doing fairly solid, considering my crazy schedule and perpetual laziness.**

 **So, until next time, thanks for reading, and remember, if there's anything you'd like to point out or have a question on, don't be afraid to leave a review or send me a PM!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Despite their spacious nature, Solomon had never felt so cramped in his quarters. Maybe it was the fact that he'd barely managed to get it cleaned up from a previous mess (courtesy of one governor) before he'd set out for this world, and now, after the battle was long done, he'd barely gotten it in some semblance of order before he'd "invited" his Mechanicus and Inquisitorial guests in for a good chat. With Syngra there as well, of course.

A few of their guards milled about, some standing at attention, others idling chatting in the corner or simply at the stuff he had. His senior officers were doing much of the same, some even swapping stories with what few goons didn't look like they were casing the place.

"So, you remember almost nothing of your childhood?" Triggerus asked. They'd talked for a long time already about his past, and other than the two voices in his head saying he had some grand destiny or duty (they made it sound like both), he'd told them pretty much everything he'd already told Syngra. Well, except for those two voices; he had an inkling anyone would think him crazy or possessed if he told them that, and try to capture or kill him on the spot.

"I remember a lot of little bits here or there, but frankly, most of it's just one big blur," Solomon said. "I can't even remember the faces of my family, or at least, their names. Sometimes things come to me, like watching a big thunderstorm, or a funeral of someone I never met, but it's not as often these days. Maybe sometime in the future, but right now… nothing concrete, and frankly, I'm okay with that. The past belongs in the past, and I need to focus on the here and now, more than ever before."

"So… you are telling me, you are from a time so completely removed from our own, that you know absolutely nothing of what has transpired between your last memory, of what I surmise to be a crash of some kind based on your description, and your awakening in the care of former Captain Ordacius?"

"That's what it looks like."

"So then how is it, despite being allegedly from so far in the past, that you are not only still able to use the technology we use, but have an innate ability to change it or develop it in ways we haven't?"

"Well, innovation isn't always easy, but when you've got a lot of time on your hands in-between fighting, making deals and trying to stay alive, you tend to come up with stuff. The list of bad or ill-thought out ideas of mine could fill one of my hangars, so what you see isn't the total accumulation of what I've tried to do. Besides, despite being in the future, the tech of mankind seems fairly… easy."

"Easy?" Baramus asked. "Easy how?"

"It's all so simple compared to what technology tries to make itself out to be. For starters, all the designs you use, no matter how old, all mesh together rather nicely, as if they were simply smaller portions of a larger collective. Everything is so interconnected and compatible that I'm amazed you have variants of a baseline model at all. The tech is literally able to be cut and pasted, or in this case welded or bolted, to pretty much any combination or configuration. Yet…"

"Yet?"

"There seems to be a complete lack of forward thinking when it comes to trying to improve what we already have. There are Imperium tank designs that have been out of date since well over half a century before my earliest memory. Most mech designs just aren't as strong or as reliable as they should be, given the amount of tech we have at our disposal. Our navy takes so long to replace losses that we're literally hanging on by a thread, and the design of so many of these ships is completely ludicrous. In my own time's comparison, it'd be like taking a luxury cruise ship and mounting weapons and armor on it, or doing the same thing to a farm vehicle; overall, even if it can work, it's not built for war at all. Many of the vehicles and ships of the Imperium need redesigns, some from the ground up."

"While your points may have some validation to them, there is little we can do with such facts," Baramus replied. "Working against the forces of countless xenos and whatever traitor forces rear their ugly heads is the biggest hurdle we face. The next, comparable in scope and just marginally lesser in cost, is keeping this Imperium running as smoothly as it does. We have no means of anything other than what we already have, hence our search for lost technology. We are forced to make do with what we have, having lost so much during the Age of Strife, and then the Horus Heresy."

"The second problem is more easily overcome than the first, but it doesn't take much to start improving what we can. For starters, based on what I've already made, agricultural output can be significantly increased. There are agriworlds that still harvest by hand; in this day and age, that's not just unacceptable, that's downright stupid."

"Your vehicle designs, while somewhat crude, do indeed carry with them a degree of superiority to what much of the Imperium has available," Triggerus replied. "Be that as it may, I do wonder what you expect to come of such inventions. The patents office of the Imperium is yet backlogged from the time of the Horus Heresy, and only the Mechanicus can deal with technology… barring present company's unique agreement, of course."

"Well, if it helps the Imperium, then that is what matters," Solomon said. "Besides, only I, and now you, have access to the designs. They aren't the best, I'll admit, but they're a damn sight better than what many planets have now. The basis for all war started as competition for resources, in our kind's original case, land: not rights, not politics, not religion, but the ability to grow or provide food for their own people, tribes at first, but later cities and kingdoms. Humans have always had an 'us' mentality, and even now, when we're surrounded by enemies of all manner and ferocity, we're still bickering over pointless bullshit. The basis for all human life is food, and the major drive for almost all advancement has been for making more food, or making food better. We make more food, we make it less likely for us to starve, and make more humans. We make more humans, we can fight the horrors of the galaxy better: strength in numbers only works if you have numbers to wield."

"So, your basic idea is to increase the Imperium's food supply. After that? You've mentioned much, and there is only so much that can be done for agriculture."

"I have other ideas for that, but they'll be years in the making, if I get everything right." In his mind's eye, Solomon saw fleets of ships, designed to produce, either through hydroponics or advanced aeroponics, cast quantities of food, to be stationed over whatever worlds struggle to make ends meet. They'd be massive, for sure, but stripped down enough that the needed crew would be relatively tiny, and overall needed resources relatively light. "The next biggest thing is resources. We have a galaxy at war, but also a galaxy brimming with raw materials."

"Yes?"

"So then tell me, why, oh why in the name of the Emperor, do people bicker over who gets to mine what to the point where wars break out between various factions? We're all human, I thought we were on the same side."

"War is a profitable venture for those who are able to seize control of what they need," Baramus said. "Mining rights to subsectors, systems and even planets are complex, intricate endeavors. Countless officials and administrators are needed to run operations of all sizes and shapes, and where a local government cannot handle the problem, the upper echelons of the Imperium's bureaucracy steps in."

"Regardless, while I don't really support the state simply seizing everything for the war effort, there needs to be better methods of producing what the Imperium needs to survive. As such, I've come up with something to assist in that endeavor." Pulling out his data compendium device, or DCD, he flicked the image on the screen several times, scrolling past a few designs, before reaching a large, skeletal structure. "This I what I'm trying to develop. Right now, it's smaller than I'd like it to be, but in the future, I can build larger ones, scaling almost indefinitely."

"What is it?" Triggerus asked. "It looks as if a factory was created to appear like a rib-cage."

"It is a ship, or better yet, a factory ship, designed to mine or process asteroids and all manner of space debris. Each one is small right now, but they can create basic mineral or chemical compounds from what they harvest, or in the case of a larger one, actually mass produce components needed for pretty much anything."

"How many crew does it take?" Baramus queried.

"Not very many, a few hundred at most, but likely less than that. They'll need a lot of servitors for the assembly process, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. These vessels meant to be very self-sufficient, even able to grow their own food, but they do require some supplies every few months, things they can't quite replace just yet. I have a few in the outer regions of the Mastuonus system, harvesting asteroids and comets, but in the long run, I'm looking to do so much more with them."

"Such as?"

"Imagine processing an entire asteroid, the processor surrounding it like the jaws of a snake, and from out the other end comes a ship, completely built, though far more efficient in both design and overall fighting ability. That is my end goal for these; to be able to mass-produce ships for the Imperium, and by proxy, myself. Holding a planet is good and all, but holding space is the first and foremost factor in protecting the Imperium. If we can rebuild or strengthen the Imperium's navy to the point where any enemy attacking it is difficult at best, and suicide at worst, then we should do so."

"You wish to mass produce ships? How will you crew them?"

"Recruiting on worlds is easy if you promise adventure and glory, especially if your ships aren't designed to hold tens of thousands of unneeded people and have more room than you can possibly use. I'm currently working on designing ships that are far more efficient in their overall build, but that's going to take some time, and possibly with your help, access to some ship schematics. I need to know what goes into ships before I can try and make them more military-minded."

"Such an endeavor will undoubtedly take time, even if you manage to not tread on the toes of every faction within the Imperium. Making completely new, untested and therefor unseen ships is bound for complications the likes of which I believe you cannot fathom. The first and foremost, of course, is making sure others in the Imperium don't shoot you on sight for manning what could appear to them to be a xenos vessel."

"Information and spreading the word is key to that, though I'll admit, it's going to take more than just time to deal with both the construction and word-of-mouth. My biggest hurdle is acquiring resources in droves, and right now, I'd rather build a fleet as quickly as possible, with some improvements or additions in mind. However, as Syngra explained to me, there is a potential solution for that."

"Which is?" Triggerus and Baramus asked together.

"Are there any defunct, out of commission, or derelict ships that would be able to be scavenged? Remnants of destroyed ships from battles, like the _Pride of Othore_ , or ships that met with accidents and had to be disbanded, or scrapped, and are currently awaiting either salvage or refit?"

"There are countless ships scattered across the void of the galaxy, though some are more dangerous or difficult to reach than others," Triggerus replied. "Salvaging what we can is a big part of keeping the Imperium's fleet together, though it is often fraught with complications. I assume you have heard of space hulks?"

"Yeah, great masses of ships and space debris, often fused or tangled together, and a damn deathtrap if I'd ever bothered to try and come up with an image for its definition. I am not setting foot on any significant or even moderate space hulk until I have developed the means to fight what is in there." The voices in his head had warned him of dangers within space hulks that even space marine veterans dreaded, horrors from both the Warp and the dark, inky cold of space. There had to be some way of at least mitigating whatever losses he'd incur for trying to salvage or explore such a wreck.

Regardless of that, I doubt many worlds above which these remnants lie would be so willing to simply let someone take them away," Baramus said. "many are tokens of honor and evidence of the sacrifice made for the world below, and as such are the resting places of those who gave their lives for the Imperium."

"Lives are cheap in a galaxy at war, and I doubt that people would be okay with perfectly salvageable ships just orbiting their local star, not being used for the betterment of them all, or being rebuilt to serve once again. Rising from the ashes of death, reborn much like a phoenix."

"What's a phoenix?"

"A birdlike creature from ancient Earth mythology; it bursts into flame when it dies, and then is reborn from the ashes, essentially immortal."

"I see. A clever use of fire in imagery, though the prospect of how such a thing might occur is certainly up for debate."

Debate? It was mythology, not a long-extinct species. Solomon merely shook his head. "Back to the ships. How do I get more ships? I'll take whatever I can get at this point."

"Well, besides the crew, there is one incredibly important piece you are missing," Triggerus said. "You will need to curry favor with the Navigator houses. Without them, your ships will be unable to safely traverse the Immaterium, and your fleet, no matter how large it may grow, will be stuck in only a few systems forever. That's fine and good for defense fleets, as they usually don't need to go anywhere, but if you want to explore or set out on a campaign against an enemy, you'll need the mobility to do so."

"So I have to get on the good side of a bunch of sanctioned mutants whose sole purpose is to navigate great masses of ships through a literal hellscape without getting lost within. What do you propose I do to gain this favor?"

"I have many contacts, and I am certain I would be able to find you potential employment with them, should you wish to do so," Triggerus replied. "Baramus, what say you?"

"Obtaining the rights of salvage is not easy, but it is fairly doable, as are rights for exploration. You may have little need to heed most of the Imperium's laws, if the Imperium benefits from them, but there are laws that cannot be broken, no matter what. These laws can be… bent, in your case, so long as you continue to fulfill the promises we have made here today. However, your mere word and my recordings, as well as the notes of your assistant will not appease most of my order. They will require something a bit more."

"Such as? I'm literally giving you guys almost everything I've made, have, or plan on making."

"You could give us your word that you will not incite planetary revolts for mere profit, nor lead rebellions in territory you do not have a stake in," Baramus said. "Especially on mechanicus worlds. We do not take kindly to meddlers in our affairs."

"Fine, fine, I won't raid or incite anything on any mechanicus world, captain's honor," Solomon said in a huff. Better not tell them about the coup he staged earlier... "Anything else?"

"If there happen to be any developments on or near our worlds, your help will be most appreciated," Baramus continued. "This is a relatively quiet portion of the Imperium, as hard as that is to believe given its current state, but with outside forces, we might be able to get more done if the person doing it doesn't have an official Imperium badge of authority. Whatever power that is yours can be more influential than local currency, and far more valuable to maintain."

"So, do stuff for you mechanicus guys as well, and you'll help me out with the ships?"

"As much as I can, though I will have to run this by my superiors, and they will have to finalize any transactions. Speaking of which, I should communicate this with them as soon as possible, they will surely wish to hear about these developments."

Abruptly, and without so much as an apology or an excuse, the adept just up and left, half his retinue following him out of the captain's quarters. About half of his senior officers followed them out, to ensure they didn't fiddle with anything or go where they weren't supposed to. Solomon had made sure to be clear on that last part.

Solomon turned to Triggerus. "What say you? What else do you want from me in exchange for our partnership?"

"Baramus may have ideas of what you can do for him, but you will be in much deeper trouble if you do not do the same for me and my organization, among others," was the reply. "He was correct in mentioning that someone outside of usual Imperium jurisdiction can help speed along processes and take care of… problematic situations. However, due to all the favors I owe to the Administratum, some of their problems will become yours, when I contact you next."

Solomon made to say something, but the man cut him off.

"Don't be so surprised at all you'll be roped into, captain. The deal you're a part of is extraordinary, even in these extraordinary times. Believe me when I say you'll be very busy for a very long time. I doubt you'll want to not be, given all you'll stand to gain from your cooperation."

"So, I'm an errand boy now, not only for the Inquisition, but also for the Adminsitratum, the Mechanicus and the Navigator houses, and whoever else wants a piece of me," Solomon replied. "Anyone else I haven't mentioned? The Sororitas and the reforming Ecchlesiarchy? Space Marine Chapters? Imperial Guard regiments? The Custodes? Random hobos on hive worlds?"

"Some of those, more so than others," Triggerus said simply. "Now then, I too must make contact, though my colleagues will be more open to aiding you in your quests than the Mechanicus, should you keep our little secret, well, a secret. That, or I could just shoot you, should you try to weasel out of it."

Solomon had no doubt that'd be the nicest thing that would happen to him if he tried to back out now. "I'll keep that… friendly warning in mind, Inquisitor," he said.

"Then I must bide your farewell, for now," Triggerus said, and with a flourish, both he and the remnants of his retinue filed out, leaving behind Solomon and Syngra, the rest of the ship's officers following them as well. Syngra turned to Solomon, her autoquill mechandrite attachment finishing up the very last of a long series of scribbles, and a curious expression gracing her face.

Solomon faced her fully. "Well?"

"Well what?" Syngra replied.

"How do you think it went?"

"Honestly? Much better than I expected, even after the initial agreement," she said. "They didn't ask for the location of your base, or a list of all your assets, or even to be inducted as a Mechanicus or Inquisitorial agent. I'd say that's a fairly good start."

"They could change that deal at any time."

"Indeed. However, for the time being, we've hit a good streak of luck, and let's try and keep it that way."

"Syngra?"

"Yes, Solomon?"

"Did I ever tell you that you're literally my best friend in this whole galaxy?"

She smiled. "Once or twice, I believe. I'd like to hear that from time to time, if you don't mind; nobody else thinks of me quite like that."

"Well, never forget that you are literally the most indispensable person I have, bar none. I'm not sure where I'd be or how sane I'd be right now if not for you and your help. Even though it already has, far more than I'd like, I would prefer if things didn't get any more complicated."

It was at that moment that the prioress strode into his personal quarters, unarmed and for once without an escort of her cronies, but appearing rather upset, her head hanging low, which was so unlike her. Judging from how she simply threw herself into the chair across from him, and the stray hairs adorning her normally-kempt silver hair, he had to guess something had happened to greatly upset her. There was even a slight puffiness around her eyes, as if she had been… crying?

Better to get to the bottom of this, before something bad happened again. "Miss Absinthia, is there something I can help you with?"

The look she gave him sent an unusual chill up his spine. Something was very, very wrong…

Meanwhile…

"Make sure the DCDs are loaded properly into the shuttle."

"Yes sir."

Triggerus turned away from the stormtroopers, hopeful that the DCDs were tougher than they looked. He didn't trust at least one of his troops to not drop one, and seeing as they were still unexplored in their entirety, he'd prefer them to remain undamaged until he could probe into all their secrets. After all, what was the point in agreeing to help the captain if he didn't benefit immediately, and immensely, at that? These devices could be an Emperor-sent blessing for the Imperium, if they both worked as intended and could allow for quick rebuilding of vehicles it could take months to repair otherwise.

"Inquisitor?" a voice said from behind him.

He turned, his hand instinctively latching onto the butt of his bolter pistol. The figure was shrouded in a robe, undecorated, save for a large, utterly familiar symbol hanging from a necklace. If not for the slight form-fitting nature of the robes, it would have been near-impossible to discern this was a woman.

"An agent of the Inquisition?" he asked, more surprised than he thought he'd be. "Here I was beginning to think our organization did not have any tabs on the captain, and that searching for him was going to take forever."

"Indeed it has not, though my hand cannot be played before its time," the figure replied, the voice sounding familiar and yet distinctly unique, as if from a different segmentum of the galaxy. "The captain has been performing admirably, even with my influence sending him towards the exact place you'd be most likely to find him. He hasn't come here on his own, or has he grown as he has without… help."

"You have sway over him?" Any fellow Inquisitor that had failed to mention this to Triggerus before, when he had asked around, was either settling in for a power play the likes of which could be astronomical, or was currently trying to recruit Solomon to their own pockets. Either way, so long as the Inquisition remained strong, Triggerus didn't care… at least, not much. He still wasn't happy he couldn't be the one fully recruiting the captain.

"I have his ear, yes, but I let him make many of his own decisions while still keeping an eye on him. He is… unique, for all his flaws, in that he is, deep down, good. It's been a long time since I've seen someone resembling him, and they didn't have what he has."

"Which is?"

"A passion, a drive for mankind that would make him a saint to many and a dangerous rival to many more." She paused. "I trust the proper people will receive the devices he has created for us?"

"Indeed they will, though I can't say the same for the Mechanicus," Triggerus replied. "Baramus will certainly send these to the largest or most influential forgeworlds he can, but for them to reach the council on Mars-,"

"That will not be possible," the figure said. "While you were coming aboard, I received an encrypted message through his astropath, Pontius. Things have escalated to a point they have never been before, and everything that was set in stone has been thrown into disarray. All of the plans, events and timetables are strewn far and wide, to the point where new ones shall have to be drawn up, and hopefully put into action."

"What do you mean, new plans? Is Solomon up to something? Is his agreement throwing a wrench into the plans of an Inquisitor I did not know of?" Triggerus did not like not knowing what was going on, almost as much as he hated orks. It made him upset, and when he was upset, he started craving recaf and suffering from a severe case of itchy trigger finger.

"The Imperium is reeling harder than ever before from a catastrophe we are only beginning to comprehend. It is in the opinion of myself, and those that sent me, that time is no longer an asset we have the luxury of using, and as of right now, Solomon is one of the best hopes we have."

"Best hope? For what?"

"Survival."

Meanwhile…

Massive psychic trauma is nothing new to Eldar. Many have felt backlashes of immense scope and significance, especially the more in-tune Seers and Farseers. Teltyra felt it as plain as day when the planet holding back the terrible reality hole that was the birth of Slaanesh fell, and in doing so, unleashed a wash of corruption and destruction across a huge swath of the galaxy. As it stood now, her craftworld was undoubtedly still under siege, but Ulthwe had been so for a very long time, so she had no doubt they would hold out for longer yet, still caught in the orbit around that maw. Now, she was aboard the ship of a human somehow connected to their very creator, or so she hoped beyond hope, and he was no longer on the right side of his kind. Now, thanks to the machinations of traitorous mon'keigh warriors and their dark gods, the Imperium was split in twain, and Solomon was not on the safer side.

She needed to contact Ulthwe, and fast, before everything she had fought and sacrificed for was rendered null by the oncoming storm. Sitting in complete silence under the leaves of a terrarium tree, she turned inside herself and began to concentrate. If she was lucky, and Slaanesh didn't horribly violate and then steal away her soul, she would be able to contact those who had sent her, and request for whatever forces they could spare. Normally specialized runes could be used for this, but she didn't have any, and would have to concentrate harder than ever before.

Time was not on their side; since the Fall, time was never on the side of the Eldar. Now, it seemed, the mon'keigh were as well running out of time.

(Timeskip)

Weeks passed, and then those weeks transitioned into months, before the repairs were completed. Solomon spent almost all his time either directing new projects or contacting as many worlds as he could with Pontius, intent on focusing on what he could or could not do. The impossible had happened, the one thing he doubt anyone had counted on had occurred.

Cadia had fallen. The troops had not, they had held out and held on until the most bitter of ends, yet the planet itself had finally given up, tectonic surges rendering it indefensible because of the actions of the attacking traitor forces, and with the loss of it and the pylons it was so famous for, a great rift had opened across the galaxy, nearly bisecting the Imperium as it connected with other Warp rifts. Solomon knew he was now cut off from a good portion of his goals, and trying to increase the strength of some of the innermost regions of the Imperium was no longer feasible, given their proximity to the storms raging in space. Trying to travel through those Warp Storms was as intelligent as trying to teach an ork to lay down his weapons, live in peace and take um embroidery.

Whatever he had left was either bound to run into trouble or was in trouble as it stood. In many worlds across the regions he had formerly thought as safe buffer zones, there were rebellions, chaos-influenced or not, greenskin uprisings or invasions, and the threat of terrible, nightmarish monstrosities from beneath the ground and from beyond the stars awakening and advancing.

He needed to grab the level and dial things up to eleven. There was no way he was going to just sit by and try to wait out this storm, he didn't have the time and neither did mankind. No, with much of the communication and travel cut off from a good half of the Imperium, he was going to have to use every resource he could, and implement whatever he could, wherever and whenever he could, to try and make things better.

He only hoped he wouldn't be too late. As it stood, he had power, yes, and even friends in a few places, but to make more friends, and to gain more power, he needed the trust and backing of countless citizens of the Imperium. He needed to earn that, and to do that, he'd need to do things for them; build up their defenses, increase their prosperity, defend them from adversity, and shield them from the coming terrors of a galaxy truly descending into madness.

The first order of business was twofold; immediately distributing the vehicles he had developed that could increase crop yields on whatever planets still grew crops, and immediately get to work on finding and refitting derelict or run-down ships. He would need a fleet before he needed an army, and he couldn't get an army anywhere if he didn't have the means of moving them through space. On top of that, most of troops were completing their training, but outside of his original, slowly-dwindling complement, absolutely none of them had any sort of combat experience. That needed to change if he was going to deal with any sort of larger enemy forces.

The second was establishing contact with whatever space marine chapters he could. More than a few had responded to his hails with an appreciation for assistance, though a few had seemed reluctant to accept any help he could provide. A few of the smaller ones, those whose numbers had been devastated in past years, were more welcoming than most, and as of now, there was a small fleet of nearly-extinct chapters headed right for his moon base of Talmanjir. With any luck, he'd be able to greet them personally, and maybe give them some new equipment to replace what they had lost… so long as they didn't suddenly call him out for heresy or something.

Meanwhile, he'd managed to make contact, at the bequest of Prioress Absinthia, with a small covenant of Order Hospitallier, who had been on a fleet bound for Cadia, had been forced to turn around when terrible Warp storms had decimated a portion of their fleet, and the remnants were unable to pass through to the Terran side of the Imperium. As it would seem, this same fleet had merged with that of the admiral who had met Solomon on Mastuonus Primus, one Deiad Gillmer. Many worlds along the route they were being forced to navigate did not have the adequate facilities to repair their ships, but in one system, they did.

Caloris Secundus, a major Mechanicus world, which Baramus had informed him he'd be able to retrofit his ship with all the necessary upgrades he wished, so long as he personally gave the governor there a DCD. It was here he'd also be able to find a larger ship builder, the plans for which he needed desperately, if he was going to start on his fleets.

He'd have to find some means of getting on the good side of whatever Navigator houses were around these parts, seeing as many of them were on Terra. Maybe he'd talk with his Navigator on the matter. Every member of a Navigator house was instructed from birth as to both their importance and utter frailty in the Imperium, seeing as they were distrusted at best and ready to be hunted down for being mutants at the worst of times. The fact they had the power and influence they now did was a testament to their importance to the Imperium, and right now, Solomon knew he'd need the help of whatever member of that freaky inbred clan of mutants he could get. Not that he'd ever call them that, of course.

However, as for Caloris Primus and the ships he needed, getting to them was not going to be easy. The entire world was gripped in a protracted conflict with feral ork tribes, and now, with the influence of the Warp reaching out further than before, a rebellion was forming. He had no doubt it was chaos influenced, and thus he needed to do something about it before the world fell, and yet another world of man was gone. Plus, if he could help the locals rebuild and repair what they had lost, as well as shore up everything he could, then getting their help in the grand scheme of things would be all the easier.

He sighed as he returned to the bridge for the first time since they had set out for the edges of the Othore system, Syngra by his side as per usual. The corvettes had been repaired as well, and as they reached the periphery of the system, a moment of silence was held for those lost in the battle so many months before. He couldn't stand to keep losing his troops like this, without the means of readily replacing them. Experience beat numbers whenever foes were evenly matched, but in the case of this galaxy, numbers usually won the day. Now, as the last of his corvettes began to attach themselves to his hull once more, he returned to his seat.

All around, the bridge crew were working at a frenzied pace, getting ready for the trip to their next destination. The ships and peoples of Othore had thanked him for his assistance, and the governor had pledged to designate Othore as a haven for him, should he ever need them. Solomon knew setting up a garrison to serve as liaison would be the best bet, but he didn't have the means to do it just yet. All he could hope was that the relatively meagre factorums on the planet would be able to pump out some equipment for the population to use in the coming fight. They, and he, would need all the help they could get.

He turned to Syngra, but the light of the mechanicus warship flanking him caught his eye. The Inquisitor and Adept had more or less scrounged through whatever creations he had during the past few months, thankfully staying away from the terrariums. He didn't want anything more to happen to his guests than he would want his "partners" to find out about them. There was only so much he could do and get away with before he started finding himself in the crosshairs and on many a faction's shit list…

"Captain?"

He blinked, focusing back on his techpriestess. "Yes, Syngra?"

"We are ready when you are, sir."

"Syngra?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think our chances are?"

"Of accomplishing your goals?"

He gave a small bark of a laugh. If not for it being inappropriate to his sensibilities, and being more or less pledged to Delvidia as an ally and lover, Solomon would have considered Syngra a potential soulmate. As such, he was glad she was his friend, and nothing more, as he preferred her to be his confidant and equal. It made things easier for him that way. "I was thinking more along the lines of what our chances for survival are."

"Well, to this point, your chances have been fairly slim," she said. "As for the rest of us, marginally less so, myself included. However, you have managed to come this far, sir, and have done things most others would have died even thinking about. You are building up the Imperium, rediscovering and innovating technology once again, making deals with those that would gladly see you enslaved to their will or simply killed, and trying to right wrongs and bring peace on a scale few have imagined. So, in short, your chances of continued success are extremely slim, as are your survival chances, but then again, you're still here, in spite of all your adversity."

"Thanks, I think," he replied. "So, think we have a shot?"

"I'd say yes, if I understand that colloquialism correctly. We do indeed have a chance to make things better."

Solomon smiled. "Then signal the engineers, we're setting out for the Caloris system, and make sure to give the navigator an extra ration of that fruit we got from Othore. I'd like him to be in a good mood once we arrive, as I'll have need of his contacts."

"As you wish, sir."

Solomon stared out balefully into space, as the calculations for their Warp jump wound down. The mechanicus warship, doing much the same, sidled up to them, a "friendly" escort now, and a search party only a few months ago. How times had changed, and now times were changing again.

Solomon only hoped he'd be there to see them change for the better, and if possible, make that happen himself.

Soon enough, a rift into the Warp appeared in front of them, and with the Gellar fields thankfully running as smoothly as before, the _Terra's Scion_ cast itself into the void, winking out as it set out for its destination, the ship of Adept Baramus and Inquisitor Triggerus following close behind.

 **A/N: well, this took a lot longer to write than I expected, but what with work overtime for the past month and a half, inherent laziness, a lack of motivation due to a small amount of sleep deprivation due to a continuously crazy work schedule, the weather, and a large list of other projects, I'm glad I could sit down and finish this chapter. It's been a good while, nearly as lengthy as the time before, but I feel I should be able to put out at least one chapter every month now, if nothing gets in the way of that. No promises though.**

 **In the future, I also plan on going back to some earlier chapters and tidying them up a bit, if only to make them more up-to-par with what I'm writing now. This includes detail fixes, spelling errors, tidying up dialogue, adding in details, and maybe a few viewpoints or two. I'll know when I work on the chapter specifically, and I'll let you readers know whenever a new chapter comes out which ones I've touched up.**

 **On another note I've recently, at the suggestion of a reviewer, been compiling a codex of Solomon's gear, vehicles and the like for those who are interested. I'm by no means an artist, but eventually, when I have a good amount of wargear amassed, I'll likely publish it on my deviantart account, the same place I published chapter 22.5 of this story (and where future NSFW chapters will be published). In the meantime, leave a review or send me a PM with your thoughts, concerns, hopes and ideas for this story. I'm always open to feedback and criticism if it'll help me make this story better.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

The journey to Caloris Secundus took longer than expected, seeing as the light of the Astronomicon was far fainter than it used to be. The great Warp Rift had dimmed the light so much so, that if he had to guess, Solomon believed it would be practically nonexistent in the farther reaches away from the Imperium. He knew that finding an alternative means of travelling across vast distances of space was paramount, but he barely had a scientific team going as it was. He'd need a lot more resources, and a long time to even try and figure out something else. So far, the best option was potentially skimming the edge of the Warp, and while it would be slower on a grand scale, just getting to and from places safely was the best option he had now.

Communication was, as well, even worse than before. In fact, as soon as Solomon arrived in-system, he was bombarded with a number of transmissions from both worlds, nearly overwhelming Pontius. Most were garbled at best and utterly incomprehensible at worst, and as they drew into the system, whatever news that could be deciphered became increasingly dire. From what Solomon could originally gather, Caloris Primus was in utter anarchy, the governor having been apparently killed by orks and his replacement murdered in his bedchambers. Now, a massive portion of the planet was in open revolt at the fact that two separate aides had declared themselves governors, and another portion was now being swamped by feral ork tribes in numbers far beyond any had seen before. What few troops that had not joined either faction were simply trying to keep their shattered forge world manufactorums together.

Caloris Secundus had recently put down a similar rebellion, slaughtering over two million people in the process, but many of its facilities were in need of repair, and with supplies outside of the system either weeks overdue or being diverted to other worlds, there was little they could do at the moment. However, that being the case, Solomon knew that stationing over the repair yards of Cal Sec (as it was called by the locals) was ideal for fixing and retrofitting his ship with whatever materials he had on hand. He couldn't do much for the world other than get a few manufactorums up and running to produce a few agri-vehicles to bring in some food in the future. Still, it would be some time before the world would be back to full capacity, and it's lack of resources was not making anything easier.

The constant ringing in his ears of pieces and parts of weapons and ship armor being replaced wasn't helping him concentrate on the matter at hand. Baramus hadn't been kidding when the governor had jumped at the chance for a retrofit in exchange for the devices and technology he had. So, for now, Cal Sec was secure, and looking like it'd be an important stop for Solomon when he wanted other ships retrofitted or built from scratch.

For Caloris Primus, on the other hand…

"So, please let me know if I have this wrong," Prioress Absinthia said. "You intend to storm Caloris Primus, a forge world, break the back of the ork tribes massing there, and then not only find out what is causing this rebellion, but also then put it down, all by yourself?"

"That is correct," Solomon said.

"Then captain, I can't help but say that I think you're crazy."

"It wouldn't be the first time, prioress," he replied. "Besides, that world has the resources I need to fix my ship and rebuild Cal Sec. I have troops that they don't, weapons that need testing to a great degree, and a need to help secure this portion of the Imperium, what with the fall of Cadia. If we're going to survive on the wrong side of the worst thing to happen to the Imperium since the Age of Apostasy, and only a bit less than the Horus Heresy, then we're going to need to band together on all of this, and build up what we can. The Indomitus Crusade is far from here, so whatever we can do, we must."

"While I agree with the captain's statements, there is a logistical problem with his plan," Baramus said, pointing out to the scans of the primary system world. "The orks are scattered along long lines of territory they currently hold, mostly in regions too far from the main cities to be supported by local forces. There are no current means of assaulting these positions by land, given the current whereabouts of the planet's armed forces and their scattered strength. Any such assault would be done without any means of support from the local military, as I doubt they'd be willing to spare the troops or materiel for such an effort. Should anything go wrong, you'll be on your own, captain."

"I was alone with my troops the night I saved space marine ass outside of Ardentum. Those orks were expecting conventional warfare, but what I have in store for these greenskins, I doubt they've seen this before. This world is technologically inferior to most outside of their heavily-guarded manufactorums and semi-automated mines, so I doubt they orks have achieved any tech higher than choppas and primitive shootahs. If not, then we'll have to bring some extra firepower."

"This is, of course, not even mentioning the rebellion," Triggerus said. "We have no idea who is behind it, as I suspect the former governor's aide is merely a puppet, and even if it isn't the work of the Rift's influence, this world is an important supplier of war materiel. The loss of it's resources could be a setback to well over a dozen conflicts of varying scope, some of which are very close by. I suspect once the orks are dealt with, you'll turn your attention to the rebellion?"

"Of course, so long as I find out which of these two pretenders is loyal to the Imperium. I'm not backing the wrong horse in this race. Most of my troops aren't on my ship, so for now, I'll have to do things a bit more carefully. I can't afford to just toss bodies willy-nilly at a conflict like this."

"What do you propose we do?" Syngra asked as she scrolled through a DCD.

"We'll get to the rebellion in good time, but for now, orks will be the main priority. First, we'll need a good-sized ship to move us between worlds, like a freighter or some local defense vessel. Then, I'm going to need a lot of empty fuel containers, a good amount of small rockets, as many transports as I can field, and the most accurate planetary maps and scans we have. Oh, and a giant chemical recombination chamber for good measure."

The prioress, the Inquisitor and the adept all looked at one another with confused expressions.

* * *

If not for the orks, Caloris Primus would not have been a bad world to live on, at any rate. Whatever wasn't completely covered factories or large multi-story population centers was fairly temperate, even seeming wild. Then again, the system wasn't actually all that old, so development was still going underway, and it would have been some time before everything was covered in steel and concrete.

However, with the ork grip spread over these still-untamed reaches strengthened by constant conflict, their pressing in on the more inhabited regions was increasingly awful for the world's inhabitants. Kommando raids destroyed supplies, sieges broke garrisons, and battle lines of wild orks forced more and more refugees into smaller and small zones, many of which were already gripped in a terrible civil war between two opposing governors and their forces. The megacities were already struggling to provide food for their citizens, and what little came in from other worlds was not quite enough to keep starvation at bay. Where law and order broke down, food riots arose.

Mord Ythra waited, tensed, up on the edge of the sturdy balcony, his heavy stubber nest trained on the open fields below. This estate was one of many scattered across the as-of-yet non-industrialized portions of the world, this one in particular belonging to a loyalist who had offered their services to the governor that Mord followed. At least, he thought they were a loyalist: they didn't seem to want to kill civilians as freely as others did, and weren't even charging fees for what meager forces the governor was able to station there.

Didn't make the refugee situation any less worse. Most were camped out on the lawns and fields of the estate, turning the place into a cross between a shanty town and a camp ground. A large portion of them were families, many of them broken; what few were still all together had still lost everything, and were destitute. Such was the case across the Imperium, no doubt; a normal life shattered, under siege by an enemy too alien to seem real, and all you could do was fight, run away, or die.

Mord had been a farmer in the outlying areas, while his brothers worked as miners for some local Mechanicus mining guild. He'd signed up in the armed forces to do his part against the orks, as everyone did for many years, either to drive them back or at least hold them off, only… things were worse than ever before. His own family was probably out there somewhere, his nieces and nephews scattered, struggling to get by day after day. If not for the civil war, the greenskins would likely be driven back, as they always had been. Yet, Mord had to keep an eye out, not only for greenskins, but for the enemy, the rebels.

The rebels claimed they wanted to become more independent within the Imperium, seeing as communication was growing increasingly difficult, and they'd been left to their own devices against the orks for generations now. Their "governor" promised that they'd unify and destroy the orks once and for all, breaking them "as glass beneath boots", yet he'd never said how. Worse, he was rarely seen except in cleverly-shot propaganda footage broadcast over all networks, depicting him as heroic and caring.

Mord's own governor had stated their loyalty to the Emperor, and the Imperium, would never falter, and that they would strive to hold on, promising reinforcements and supplies within mere days. He'd been promising this for a long time, and what little made it to them during these times was hyped beyond all measure, to where it was near laughable. According to him, one would think they were winning both wars on all fronts, even if he barely left his central command in the planet's second-largest city.

Mord personally thought the enemy governor was trying for glory, and that his leader was slowly falling apart trying to keep up the façade and hold everything together. He didn't feel the Imperium was coming any time soon; he'd have to hold until he died.

Off in the distance, another stream of refugees came into view, long lines of bedraggled figures dragging or wheeling whatever they had with them. The few troops not in heavily-armed defenses were at the edge of the camps, directing them where to go. Whatever papers could be scrounged, or whoever could be identified, were directed towards relatives. At this point, if any of them were enemies, Mord didn't care. Everyone was searched for weapons, and they were all up against these damned greenskins. What was the point of this fighting anyway? Caloris Primus hadn't been a greater world since the greenskins first showed up and turned their once-proud planet into a festering quagmire of an endless skirmish. Or, at least, that's what his grandfather had said his father had told him.

One of his fellow soldiers brought up a steaming cup of recaf. It looked like muddy water, and tasted a bit like iodine, but to a stressed-out, war-weary soldier like Mord, it was ambrosia straight from the Emperor.

"Think they'll attack today?" his fellow soldier said, a former logger by the name of Walmbly. Funny, he'd forgotten if the man had ever told him his last name.

"The orks, or the rebels?"

"Does it matter?"

"I'd rather shoot orks than rebels."

Walmbly smirked. "Talk like that might get you sent to the brig these days. Can't afford to execute soldiers anymore, don't have the ammo to spare and the last commissar in our quadrant caught a rokkit to the chest. Still don't know why the poor chap stood in the open like that."

"The rebels are still human, orks ain't," Mord replied, taking a sip. "Only reason we're fighting other Imperials is because their leader says they have to. Didn't care for that commissar anyway."

"Well, hopefully reinforcements arrive. Any news from the governor? I'd heard on the grapevine that a bunch of troops were headed our way."

"He said that last time, and all we got was a couple of platoons of guardsmen from some fight elsewhere. Warp, their equipment was in almost as bad of shape as ours."

"Good thing we have that Freeblade though, she's carrying the biggest set of guns we've got."

Mord nodded. A Freeblade of a Knight Paladin classification had arrived during the initial stages of the conflict, when the ships in orbit were picking sides, and had managed to make planetfall before the ship they had arrived on had been shot down. Nobody knew the pilot's name, only that the mighty vehicle was known as the _Eye of the Storm_. Heavily armed and armored, it was rumored that the pilot belonged not to some extinct great Knight family, but was the far-flung child of a galaxy-wandering house who had decided to travel the stars rather than lay claim to a world and its riches. Some thought the pilot a hideously-scarred mutant, or a criminal attempting to make amends for past sins; others, an avenging angel brought by the Emperor himself to their cause. Only the governor had ever met them in person, and that was rare enough that nobody knew what they had talked about.

Regardless of who they were or what reason they fought, fought hard they did, often single-handedly smashing ork parties whilst escorting refugees, supplies and reinforcements, or in the direr cases, fleeing friendly troops. The _Eye of the Storm_ was an inspiration and a comforting presence, despite the fearsome appearance and raw firepower it could wield with incredible skill. As of now, it stood silently, perched atop a small mound in the central plaza, guns fixed on the distant horizon.

Mord tore his gaze away from the small birds resting on her frame to look up at the sky. "Orks are all over the planet, always have been. Biggest spots of them are coming for the cities, like they've always done. They just caught us at a tough time, what with this war."

"A war breaking out in the middle of a war," Walmbly said. "Truly, these are dark times."

There was a beep on his shoulder. Pressing it, Walmbly silently listened to his vox device. With a sigh, he handed Mord his own cup of recaf. "Duty calls," he muttered, and hoisting his lasgun, he trotted off towards headquarters, stationed in the mansion's central plaza.

Mord looked out over the field of refugees and noticed something strange. The lines of refugees weren't stopping at the checkouts. In fact, most of the outer, settled refugees were starting to pack up, some just abandoning everything. Most were running towards the mansion, right past the guards and weapon emplacements.

He looked further up towards the horizon and saw why.

Orks.

A veritable tide of orks was streaming towards them, one of the larger warbands in the area, no doubt. None had expected them to be so close, yet with the artillery ammunition shortage, there was no way to keep them at bay with constant bombardment anymore, so their arrival had only been a matter of time.

The most distant lagging refugees were being cut down, by way of choppas and shootahs, blood and body parts flying everywhere as the distant screams reached the area. The other refugees began to stream out of their hovels at the sight of this horde of green xenos and distant noise of battle. No, it wasn't a battle, it was a slaughter, and if they didn't repulse them, Mord and his allies were going to be a part of it.

Biting back a sigh, he thumbed the controls of his heavy stubber, and began to take aim. Large-caliber bullets flew forth in great bursts, streaking through the air towards the distant ranks of bloodthirsty orks. All around, other stubber and similar weapons emplacements began to fire, hosing down the field with deadly fire. Whatever refugees that hadn't fled originally were caught in the crossfire, countless numbers of the more-distant ones falling from their own kind's weapons long before the orks could cut them down. Yet, whoever hadn't made it were still trying to, running across open ground even as bullets whizzed over their heads and splattered the ground around them.

Behind the mansion, artillery began to send forth their own rounds, laying waste to the areas marked on their grid maps. Shells caught some orks on direct hits, literally vaporizing them or sending sprays of blood into the air. Others were torn apart by the shrapnel, then riddled with bullets or peppered with lasgun fire. Yet, the orks cared not for the slaughter of their own, and moved towards the mansion at a relentless pace, eager for a fight.

Mord turned to grab a fresh drum for his stubber and saw the _Eye of the Storm_ stride past his balcony, the towering Knight Paladin taking aim with one of its massive battle cannons, the birds formerly perched upon it having long ago taken flight. It fired, and the roar of the wind rushing away from the blast nearly sent Mord skidding away from his post. His ears ringing louder than the battlefield, he strapped in the fresh ammo drum for his stubber and let loose once more, just as the _Eye of the Storm_ let loose another blast.

All around, refugees streamed into the mansion complex, many running right past stubber nests firing on near full-auto, the streams of shells piling high outside of their fortifications. Many rushed towards the underground complex entrance, above which the artillery sat, sending shell after shell against the ork advance. The orks, by now, were much closer, and were returning fire with equal fervor and wild abandon. Mord watched as one of the more distant fortifications opened the rear latch, the soldier inside rushing out with his weapon in tow. If they had been there, a commissar would have shot that man. Luckily for him, there wasn't one, and judging from the other abandoning the distant weapon emplacements, weapons in tow, they were glad for it. No sense in staying and dying, losing both a valuable weapon and experienced soldier in the process, when you could fall back and keep killing the enemy.

A few moments later, the entire structure detonated, then another, and another, and more, sending spouts of fire into the sky. Ork rokkits? A series of grenades or satchel charge equivalents? Mord didn't know, and as he reloaded again, a cluster of ork rokkits streaked overhead, smashing into one of the decorative pillars above the mansion. Crumbling from the explosion, the structure fell behind him, and judging from how hard the ground around him rumbled, the staircase that led to his stubber next was likely blocked off.

"Great," he mumbled, not hearing his own words as they were drowned by another blast of the _Eye of the_ _Storm_ 's main gun. The pilot was smart, and firing as precisely as they could: while wild, indiscriminate firing would work just as well, they didn't have an unlimited ammo supply, and they were already starting to dwindle. Then would come the melee, and the abject slaughter of everyone; taking on orks in melee was, for normal humans, about as smart as fiddling with the Gellar field generators in the middle of a Warp jump, and usually produced much of the same results.

As smoke and fire began to spread across the battlefield, much of it from the burning remnants of refugee shelters and possessions, the tide of orks trickled down to a few stragglers, and then, with another blast of artillery, a couple of gretchins out in the open were vaporized. Mord checked his ammo supply; low, with only a few drums left. A few soldiers to his side were bringing up more ammo for the artillery, the rounds kept safe in the underground complex, but there wasn't many left. A few even brought some for the Knight, but left in a hurry; there likely wasn't much left for the towering mech anyway.

Then a roar sounded, and from over the crest of the hill, another wave of orks streamed their way. Mord grimaced, too tired to be shocked. Of course, the ones they'd killed was just the first wave. Now, there were more coming, and they were running low on ammo. Typical.

Then, as the orks sounded forth their calls of waaagh once again, another roar sounded, unlike anything an ork could make. In fact, the sound came from above, and with a startled gasp, Mord looked up and saw shapes descending from the sky. Oh, great, flying orks; they were screwed now. Only, these shapes, as they drew closer, didn't look like orks. No, they were… ship? "What in blue blazes?" Mord muttered. No ships were supposed to be anywhere near this place, and whatever air cover the governor-claimant still had were being used to protect the city he was stationed in.

Yet, these ships came in all the same, and with lightning speed, came to a stop over the battlefield, their large, boxy shapes showing them to be cargo haulers and transports.

"Who in their right mind sends these over a battlefield?"

Mord's question was answered a moment later, when after their bay doors opened, shapes emerged. Over what must have been a series of loudspeakers, there was a blast of music, the likes of which Mord was pretty sure none of the remaining loyalist forces, himself included, had ever heard. It was strange, like banging rocks together with instrumentals of a heavily Mechanicus-inspired orchestra, and then, suddenly, the shapes leaped out of the bay doors, slamming into the ground in clouds of dust and mud.

They towered over the approaching orks, who had only slowed a little to get a better look at these new challengers, tall and mechanical in nature. They were a dark red, almost like the color of congealed blood, and the insignia upon their shoulders and backs was unlike anything Mord had seen before. Was this some special kind of vehicle squad from some guardsmen regiment, or were these the famed dreadnoughts of the Adeptus Astartes? They looked almost nothing like the pictures he'd been shown.

"Shield wall!"

A voice sounded from one of the great figures, and with crackles of energy, massive twin shields were plucked from the sides of these new mechs, and as the very first lyrics of the song began to sound, something about being welcomed to a jungle, they slammed together, a wall of energy and mighty metal forming between the mechs and the approaching orks. Then, pistons pushed the machines somewhat into the ground, and from their massive, hump-like backs, slots appeared.

With a shriek reminiscent of a ghostly wail, the kind some claimed they heard on quiet battlefield nights, smoke and fire poured from the slots. No, not fire and smoke, but exhaust and death, rocket after rocket streaking out in numbers Mord couldn't hope to count. The air was filled with them, so thick, and with so much smoke, he lost sight of the charging orks completely. The ensuing explosions blotted out all other sound; it was if thunder was fighting an earthquake on the battlefield, so great did everything shake and rattle. Mord could have sworn his teeth chattered in his skull from it.

Within seconds, it was over, the great cloud resting over the battlefield like a thick blanket. Then, a gust of wind appeared, and pushed back the smoke. Mord peered out to where the orks had come from, and he had to admit he was, for the first time in a long time, amazed. Not a single ork stood where the rockets had impacted. Neither did anything else; the ground had been blasted so deep, in some places, what looked like scorched bedrock poked out, the plains having been pulverized to the point of excavating a crater. Literally, nothing was left; no debris, no ork chunks, not even their weapons.

As the song continued high above, which Mord had to admit was rather catchy, another cry of waaagh sounded again, and more orks came over the horizon.

From the transports above leaped more figures, these appearing different than the others. They did not have a large back hump, but instead carried what looked like a massive fuel container on their back. Flamethrower troops?

Spreading in front of the shield wall, these mechs turned to face the oncoming orks. Their large weapons held at the ready, the song above ended, and then, there was relative silence.

Thick white smoke, like billowing clouds of dust on a desert world, streamed out from the mechs in massive plumes, covering the battlefield in a matter of seconds. It enveloped the orks like a blanket, and then, the mechs behind them rose, their shields returning to their sides. In their place, they produced what could have been cannons in an infantry battalion, though strangely shaped, and belt-fed from openings in the lower portions of their humped backs.

They lit up the smoke with an unceasing wave of fire, secondary explosions rocking the landscape within the plume as the other mechs kept up their smokescreen, large bolters mounted on their shoulders seeming to track and fire upon any orks that made it out of the fog. Very few did, as it were, somehow, and they were cut down with relentless, and in Mord's mind, rather frightening precision. For the first time in many days, he let his finger off the trigger, and leaned back slightly to rest. He could see fellow soldiers doing much the same; let these newcomers finish things up. Hopefully they'd brought food, whatever rations they still had were now even less appetizing than before.

Meanwhile…

Three figures stood in the ship, staring at the large viewscreen before them, the feed transmitting live footage from the planet below. The battle outside of the mansion was just one of many occurring across Caloris Primus, and the feeds showed much of the same thing. Orks assaulting a fortified base or simply on the move towards a human settlement, be it a fort, a city, or even, in the first case, a large home. The transports, flying down and deploying the first wave of Crimson mechs, their shield walls defending admirably against most ork attacks, and their missile pods making short work of most ork forces, in some cases obliterating every trace of them. The mechs wielding the clouds fo smoke in flanking maneuvers on some orks, the crossfire ripping the greenskins to shreds as they had no idea where to run or who to fight.

"These mechs, based upon their armament, are designated as "Pulverizers", and as you can clearly see, they truly do devastate the enemy," Syngra said, motioning to some of the more devastated battlefields. Some places were scorched rock, others massive craters that looked the aftereffects of an orbital strike.

"Clearly," Triggerus agreed. "Their armaments, we saw those in a DCD. Just what are they?"

"The large humps upon their backs are housing for both their missiles, many of which have large explosion radii despite their relatively small size," Syngra replied. "Overwhelming the enemy with explosives is always good."

"The shields?"

"Made of the strongest armor plating we currently have, and outfitted with their own ion shields, the generators for such also protected in the large back hump. They can overlap their ion fields with other mech's shields as well, creating an interlocking wall effect, as we saw. However, they can only do this when they deploy, such as when they are ready to fire their missiles, and as such, they cannot move."

"A notable weakness if the enemy is far quicker than the orks were," Baramus said. "What of their cannons? They did not seem to fire direct energy upon the greenskins."

"Massive flak cannons, to be precise, though they work just as well on soft, fleshy targets as they do on flying craft. Or, that's the plan, anyway; we did not notice any ork aircraft, so it is likely they have not scavenged anything that could be used as such, or they aren't as far along as other ork forces in development. So, in theory, they'll work well on whatever aircraft aren't heavily armored or built by unknown materials, but if that is true remains to be seen."

"Why are the cannons not built into the arms themselves, like in Dreadnaughts or Knights?"

"These mechs still have appendages that allow them to use a variety of both weapons and tools both on and off the battlefield. If their weapon is damaged to the point it is no longer usable, then what good is it to be permanently attached to their hand? That'd be like welding a lasgun to a guardsmen and then being upset if he couldn't shoot the enemy if the lasgun was disabled. This way, our mechs will not suffer the glaring lack of oversight in some designs, especially our older ones, in that a few well-placed shots render them practically unarmed targets on the battlefield."

"What of the other mechs? The ones with the large fuel canisters? I'm still not sure why you even needed a smokescreen."

Syngra smiled. "That wasn't a simple smokescreen."

"It wasn't? It covered the battlefield as one would."

"It's meant to do that. It does provide cover, so long as you're not within it. It was actually a carefully blended cloud of certain chemical compounds which, if I can get some samples from Solomon, will determine how effective it is against ork cellular structure."

"You're developing a gas that kills orks?" Baramus scoffed. "Orks are eventually immune to most chemicals, especially if they believe themselves immune. That, and they are extremely resilient to most anyways."

"We're not trying to make a gas that kills orks," Syngra countered. "I advised Solomon against this, as it would be folly to attempt such a thing. Instead, this gas is meant to target orks, or at least, the fungal portion of their biology. Solomon called it "weaponized Tinactin", though I do not know exactly what this "Tinactin" is. My guess is some kind of topical cream, or maybe a product to enhance one's beauty."

"So, it weakens the orks, rendering them easier to kill?" Triggerus sounded a tad confused. "Why not simply kill them with conventional means?"

"If we can weaken the orks to the point where less forces are needed to kill them, then conflicts with all but the largest and fiercest of ork forces will require far fewer forces on the line. I do not know if Solomon shared with you his experiences on Woebus, but he lost thousands of troops to orks because he lacked the foresight and experience when dealing with them. He has since grown wiser and has those experienced with orks in his retinue, but he lost a large portion of his forces in his very first conflict, and he does not wish to do the same again. In this regard, he hopes to develop means for local defenses to more readily take care of ork problems on their own, especially if he can develop a variety of simpler chemical compounds. That way, most worlds should be able to make and use these chemicals, depending upon their levels of development."

"Obviously, not all worlds will be able to develop this. I take it the captain has something in mind for this?"

Syngra nodded. "Whichever worlds cannot make this themselves, can purchase and import it from Solomon himself. He does need the funds to support his ventures, after all, and diversifying from mere agricultural equipment is a step in the right direction."

"A smart business move. I take it he does not have as large of monetary reserves as he once did?"

"Nowhere near as much, but more than enough to save for a "rainy day", as he put it. Now then, the mechs that used the gaseous cloud to weaken the orks, they normally come equipped with a large lascannon as their primary weapon, mostly for use against enemy vehicles and large infantry formations. Solomon's own will have a sword modeled on his very own, as you saw when we first met, to serve as a melee weapon, though obviously very large in comparison. Others will later carry much the same item. We're thinking of ways to distinguish officers on the battlefield based on armament, but without it being too evident to the enemy. Officer survival, especially experienced ones, is a high priority."

"The shoulders carried bolters, which I noticed seemed to target orks within and outside the smokescreen," Baramus noted. "How is this?"

"The pilot's helmets give them a tactical view of the battlefield through various sensors built into the vehicle's chassis. They can switch between several different spectrums, including ultraviolet, infrared, and visible light, to name the most basic. The pilot's then use the bolters as basically a second pair of limbs, their eyes telling the bolters where and when to fire as the either swing their arms, or in this case, fire their weapons. Solomon wanted to look into automation, but I vehemently opposed such an idea, and he relented."

"I suggest you continue to dissuade him from such thoughts, lest he attempt to develop some kind of abominable intelligence. If he does, then our agreement could become fairly in danger, as well as him."

"Indeed," Triggerus agreed. "Now, you mentioned something before he intends to sell the chemical compounds to other worlds. What will he want in exchange?"

"He did not say as of yet, other than resources, trade rights, and possibly future aid, he wasn't very clear on the latter part. My guess is he will seek to make deals with the leaders on those worlds for items he currently does not have, or things he does not have in great abundance. However, there are more pressing matters at hand, so we'll come to that at a later date. Now then, would you like to see his designs for his main battle tanks?"

Down on Caloris Primus…

Meeting an offworld visitor was one of the primary functions of a planetary governor, especially if they were important or had just literally saved most of the planet from orks. All over the newsfeeds, there were reports of Imperial machines descending from the sky and obliterating orks all across the world. What Caloris Primus had not been able to do in generations of fighting, strangers had done in a matter of a day; break the back of the feral ork tribes. Whichever ones that hadn't been killed were being hunted down all over the world, and although they'd never be fully rid of them, Caloris Primus would have a good amount of time to rest and rebuild.

That is, if the civil war wasn't still going on. The supposed planetary governor, secure in his bunker, knew that leaving his main city of operations was not the best choice for him. The other governor claimant would likely seek his death or capture if he attempted to move elsewhere. So, to speak with the leader of these Imperial forces, he decided his main aide would be the best suited for the job.

Said aide, a young woman by the name of Wenda Pillor, was beginning to seriously doubt her leader's commitment to the war effort. A group of heavily-armed troops literally drop in your lap, crush enemies your world has been fighting for generations, and begin to distribute medical and food supplies all over the world, and you literally won't meet with them? What kind of leader did something like that?

The same one she'd offered her services to, of course. "Just my luck," she muttered as she came into view of the estate. Apparently, the refugees were beginning to make offerings to the large machines, as blessings sent by the Emperor himself. Some were decorating them with iconography, or giving them whatever trinkets they had left. Children played in their shadows, marching behind them in the same manner the machines did, imitating their saviors like children often did. Wenda didn't think these visitors divine, very few did after the decree from Terra reached across the Imperium, but it didn't hurt to have them believe the Emperor had heard their pleas and that help had finally arrived.

In the crispest suit she still owned, with an autoquill mounted on a forearm brace and a large series of communication wires sprouting from a pack on her back, Wenda strode into the mansion's main grounds, past countless troops and refugees. Here, amidst the ruins of several stone columns and a large stack of newly-arrived supplies, what must have been the lead mech, judging from its unique sword, was having what appeared to be a staring contest with the Freeblade Knight. That, or they were silently communicating over some auditory channel others could not hear.

"Greetings," she called out, wondering why the governor hadn't bothered to send her any bodyguards. Why he needed so many, she had no clue. The dropship she'd been ferried in had literally only had one pilot and a gunner so twitchy she was worried he'd shoot her in the back as soon as she disembarked.

The mech didn't seem to hear her, continuing its silent conversation with the Freeblade.

"Greetings!" she called, louder this time.

That seemed to get its attention. With a hiss of motors and pistons the mech turned to face her, looking down from its impressive height at what she realized was a fairly frail frame. She had to admit, with supplies running low, she no longer had the fuller figure she once did, but she wasn't gaunt like some people were these days.

"Hello, I am Wenda Pillor, primary aide to the reigning and true governor of Caloris Primus," she said, steeling her nerves as the mech lowered itself closer to her height, or at least, as best it could. "He sends his best regards and thanks you for coming to our world in our hour of need. However, he is currently unavailable to meet you in person, though I am certain he wishes to. Who are you, mighty warrior?"

"Mighty warrior?" the mech replied, the voice of the pilot inside somewhat distorted, yet no less masking of what sounded like a chuckle. "I am no mighty warrior, Miss Pillor. I am merely a servant of the Imperium, who just so happened to arrive in your system."

"Why did you arrive? Were our calls or aide finally answered?"

"Well, not really," the mech said. "I needed repair to my ship, and the secondary world in this system had the shipyards and resources I needed. Your world, however, has the resources I require, as well as a few other things. Where is your governor, by the way?"

"He is secreted away in his bunker, attempting to keep the world together as best he can," Wenda replied. "This civil war is breaking us apart. The false governor has already started broadcasting that your arrival is a sign that the Imperium is always late, and cannot be trusted, seeing as you are only giving out supplies to the ones who wished to stay in the Imperium."

"Hmm, sounds desperate. Tell you what, I have a few things to go over with my troops, but in the meantime, as a measure of goodwill, please take a crate of supplies with you, and a message to your governor."

"Yes?"

The mech straightened up, pistons and gears humming as it did. "If he cannot find a peaceful solution to ending this conflict, and does not immediately attempt to call for a ceasefire and diplomatic negotiations with this rival governor claimant, then I'm afraid I will have to settle this dispute myself."

"What gives you the authority to demand such things?"

The tone the mech took sent a chill down Wenda's spine. "The greatest deluge of misfortune in the Imperium's history since the Horus Heresy has occurred. We're on the wrong side of a rift that's torn the Imperium in two, and right now, all we can do is band together to try and ride out this storm. So, it falls to me, someone objective and clearly insane enough to try and make things better for mankind, to try and lead this charge. Tell your governor that if he does not meet my demands, then I will be forced to take more… drastic measures."

Meanwhile…

The outermost edges of the Caloris system were as dark and asteroid-filled as many star systems were. Most bore a mixture of comets, asteroids, and small planetary bodies on highly elliptical courses. For most, such a place was devoid of life and activity, save for errant collisions and the occasional space wreck drifting in the dark vacuum.

Which was why, as the portals opened, and a flurry of ships appeared on the system's edge, Admiral Deiad Gilmer, of the cruiser _Starwatcher_ , breathed a sigh of great relief.

"Status report," he said.

"We've taken a beating, sir, but we'll survive," one of his bridge crew said. "Decks five through fifteen are on fire to some degree, and we've lost communication with the armsmen barracks in the lowest decks. Don't know if they lost oxygen or the damage shorted out the comms, sending a team to investigate."

"Good," the admiral replied. Getting away from the epicenter of destruction that had become the route to Cadia was more terrible than any battle he'd faced. The portion of his fleet that had found themselves on the right side of the Warp rift had managed to make contact and inform him they were headed towards Imperial strongholds. As for the tattered remains of the fleet that had been caught on the wrong side, well, the fact that the astropaths and the navigators had been able to steer them to a relatively quiet region of space, despite the dimming light of the Astronomicon, was in and of itself no less than a blessing by the Emperor himself.

He'd lost a good portion of his fleet strength, though thankfully the largest ships were still mostly intact. The Caloris system had shipyards they could use to rest and repair, but the losses in crew and morale were dangerously high. He only hoped he could find shelter in this sector, and relief.

Then he noticed something odd about his sanctioned psyker. Well, less odd than usual, but no less not quite the same as before. "Krekka, what is it?"

"The light has been brought to Caloris Primus," she said in her ethereal voice, sounding both happy and confused. "He is there, admiral, the one who aids and strengthens. He is within our grasp once more, and has grown ever stronger, enough to make us stronger as well. May we pursue him?"

Now it was Deiad's turn to be confused. "Who is on Caloris Primus?"

Meanwhile…

Being hidden from the prying eyes of what must have been a vast crew was by means an easy feat. Seer Teltyra knew that the ship she was aboard was crude, but did its job well enough, as did those that inhabited it. It had saved them from starvation aboard their doomed vessel, protected them from the ork rok's powerful weaponry, and now, it kept her, her daughter, and her two remaining crewmates safe from the eyes of the Imperium. For that much, to the captain, she was grateful.

Yet she knew him to be a fool. An honest and possibly earnest fool, but a fool nonetheless. So much of her kind's future hung in the balance, and while he was not the key or the centered piece of the puzzle, he fit into it well enough that he could not have become so by chance. The tangled webs of history were tied to him in complex patterns and lines that she could not wholly discern. Where he had come from, who he was, what he was capable of… it shifted, like a shimmering school of fish when one approached them. In one instance, it was plain and straightforward, then everything became as a blur, unclear and indecipherable.

The enigma that was Captain Solomon and who he was, combined with what he could mean to her kind, was as contradictory as the cold of vacuum and the burning brilliance of a star.

As Fengil frolicked in the taller grasses of the terrarium, shadowed by one of them Banshees like a guardian spirit, Teltyra's concentration pushed once more into the runes before her. Her resolve was strong as ever, and the human's food, while bland, gave her strength. Now, after countless attempts, and countless days of meditation, concentration, and careful applications of her psyker nature, she pushed further than she had ever before.

There.

A link.

A link to Ulthwe, a bridge back to whence she had come from.

A tear leaked from her blank, glassy eyes, her stare off elsewhere, happiness threatening to overwhelm her control. Now, she could accomplish her mission; now, she could do what she had originally been sent to the farthest corners of the galaxy for. To save her people, to find the Isha connection, and the bring it back to Ulthwe.

It was time for the real work to begin.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Everyone thinks they know what to do, but, very few ever actually do. There's an enormous difference between thinking about ruling, and actually doing it.

Ruling a planet was never an easy thing in the Imperium of Man. Even without the constant fear of xenos incursions or outright invasions, Warp storms and natural space phenomena and predators like space whales and space krakens, sometimes horrific local flora and fauna that were pure nightmare fuel, there was the ever-present threat of the Imperium, both from within and without. A rival might frame you for heresy or temptation, getting the Inquisition or Administratum to remove you from power, rendering your entire family's lineage and the struggles they underwent to reach this point not only defunct, but also ending with you. On top of that, the nobility of the planet or local systems could play the great game, scheming to get themselves into better positions of power, eventually leading to control over the planet or the entire system, and in some cases, even beyond that, all at your expense.

Then there were the civilians you were entrusted to protect. Work them too little, and the tithes will be short, and the Administratum will show up. Work them too hard, they might rebel, or worse, fall to powers beyond imagining, and then the Inquisition, Adeptus Astartes, and Imperial Guard all show up. Mess up something you are constructing, either by building it wrong or somehow making it work better with a new idea, and then the Mechanicum shows up. That didn't even cover the cost of trying to keep them fed whilst working them to produce as much as possible for the constant wars across the galaxy, as well as keeping communication and trade open with other systems and subsectors.

Suffice to say, being governor was much harder than it seemed to those who had no experience of it. As it was, even though he had been an aide to the former governor for many years, Eicke Karduun felt as if he were barely holding things together. The civil war had torn the planet even as the orks plundered and destroyed whatever they could get their grubby green hands on. It seemed that, split along a clear divide, the world was going to fall.

Then, the requests for assistance, so long barely answered, were met by something truly working for the light of the Emperor himself. A legion of machines, piloted by men and women from across the stars, had dropped all over the world, and with precision unseen by such mechanized forces lacking infantry support, sliced and smashed their way through major ork concentrations, obliterating most ork resistance. Whichever orks that were not pulverized or burnt fled into the wilds, pursued into the most remote regions of the planet. While the fungal spores of the xenos would eventually facilitate their return, that would not be for some time, and so the planet could rest and rebuild.

That was, if the civil war was also brought to heel just as rapidly.

Eicke turned from the pile of papers that detailed the newest shipments of supplies, the dull noise of his bunker's ventilation system giving him a mild migraine. The meds he had been able to save up were running low, and lest he develop a dependency on them, he'd rationed them as best he could for when things were at their worst.

It helped, most of the time.

Now, however, the newest wrinkle had emerged in this conflict. With the ork presence shattered for now and breathing space for the world a luxury they'd never thought they'd have again, the people of Caloris Primus were at a crossroads. How to end the civil war? neither side was able to win or even call for the other's surrender from a position of strength, and blood had been spilled on all sides, innocent or not, too much for there to be a simple peaceful resolution. Yet now, the very man who had saved their planet, had given their respective combating leaders a proposition that was, simply, just that.

No, it was no proposition, but an ultimatum: either find a peaceful solution to end the conflict, or else he would instead.

Eicke didn't know who this "Solomon" thought he was, but given the tales beginning to filter in from past exploits, he wasn't someone to take lightly. He had the capability of transforming a world from near the bottom up, much as he had done to Mastuonus Primus and the moon of the system's third world. Given the fact that it was rumored he had both Inquisitorial and Mechanicum contacts and was on good terms with at least two Astartes chapters gave credence to the rumors that he was more powerful than he seemed.

His aide, originally sent on his behalf to speak with Solomon, had returned with unexpected news. The man wanted to meet with several members of both sides of the war, in a neutral location. This included both himself and the rival governor-declarant.

He had no qualms about sending others in his stead for a task such as this. Be they leaders of industry, heads of powerful families, military commanders or those with local connections to the Mechanicus or Inquisition, it would be best for some of his qualified lackeys and partners to attend. Not all of them, though; after all, if the other side attempted to wipe them all out in some crazed attack, or if this "Solomon" tried to do the same, then his losses would be incalculable, should he and his most important leaders attend.

Nay, send in the lesser. They would still serve the purpose needed, and should it be a good thing, then perhaps discussing things with the Rogue Trader in person would be possible. If peace was somehow managed, then getting outside to breathe some non-recycled air would be a blessing from the Manperor himself.

For now, best to hunker in his bunker and hope the new supplies were distributed soon. He was itching for some meds to take off this migraine.

* * *

Finding a neutral location had not been entirely easy. Almost every part of the planet's surface had been claimed or reinforced by the two opposing factions even before the orks had grown out of control, and as such, the lines between had only grown deeper the longer the conflict had grown. Finding a place that neither side had claimed, nor would attempt to assault if they saw an opportunity to wipe out a substantial portion of the enemy command structure, would have been very difficult.

Thankfully, more than a few of the locals had pointed Solomon to an abandoned manor, one of the first to fall during the ork incursion. Not terribly sprawling, but the interior of the great hall was relatively intact, save for some debris. After some locals cleared it out, Solomon immediately began setting up both the scheduled seating and the defenses.

The seating was easy. All of one party was on one side of the atrium-like gathering, the opposing on the other. The very few, and likely non-vocal minority of neutral parties had also sent representatives, though they sat apart from everyone else; likely to not get confused with one party or another if things turned into a shouting match.

As for the defenses, Solomon did not spare anything expense. Armed infantry was positioned in every hall, and if not for the fact that they moved around every now and then, they might as well have been replacements for the decorative statues they'd moved out of the way. Outisde the manor, patrols of his mechs stood silent, scanning constantly for possible enemies. Even if the orks had been driven off for the most part, there was still the possibility that gangs of them could show up, or even pop up out of the ground. It had been years, after all, and orks always showed up once they were on a planet. Unless, of course, everything was burnt to the ground, and then the ground was burnt, and then what was left of the ground was torched with liquid promethium.

Outside as well, in two large storehouses, the vehicles the delegates used to arrive were under the watch of Solomon's own forces and the very token number of soldiers the locals brought with them, as the idea to put a limit on the allowed troops was an amazing suggestion of Syngra's. As it turned out, letting them bring as many with them as they could fit in their transports could very well lead to an attempted attack on someone else. Who would have thought? So, to limit the possibility to sabotage from one faction on another, or even on his own forces, Solomon had ordered that any forces that did arrive were restricted solely to their own "garages" for the proceedings. Anyone who attempted to sneak away for any reason would be detained, and if they resisted, would be shot.

Finall, the main entrance, with part of its back wall blown out, was where the Freeblade knight stood, facing the gathered congregation. Solomon had not had much chance to communicate with the pilot, who never seemed to leave the powerful suit, but they had agreed to watch over the meeting and provide support if things went south. That is, if the sight of a massive armored suit of walking death didn't do enough to dissuade any treacherous thoughts from the gathered leaders.

Solomon would not put anything past them. Idiots were, sadly, even more numerous in this galaxy than he had feared, and one could never underestimate an idiot's potential to absolutely shit on everything everyone was working towards. Hopefully, he could help remedy that soon enough.

So, despite all the extra security, and the absolute assurance to both parties that he was neutral to their grievances and only wanted what was best for their world, Solomon could almost feel the tension and mistrust in the air as the gathered parties assembled. Oh, and the hatred as well, but given that a civil war had broken out on a world already fighting against orks, based on proper succession and likely a whole host of other matters, that was a given.

Still, he could only hope for the best, and expect the worst. So, par for the course so far.

"Greetings, distinguished guests," he called out from the platform he had taken for his own, a raised ledge overlooking the gathering. It wasn't really a balcony, just one of the more stable portions of the collapsed area that was best for speaking. "I thank you all for arriving with all due haste. We have much to discuss, and far less time to accomplish things than I would like."

That didn't seem to accomplish much more than drawing the attention of most of his guests, but hardly any of their interest. After all, what did off-world Rogue Trader possibly have to offer their world? Other than, of course, having broken the back of the orks plaguing them and forcing the civil war into more of a cold war than anything else; he'd done that.

"As you have undoubtedly heard of by now, I am Captain Solomon, of the Terra's Scion. Rogue Trader, slayer of orks, crusher of rebellions, and a frequent visitor to this portion of the Imperium."

"What is it you want?" a chief delegate asked, or more demanded, from the side of the original governor's forces. They wore shoulder cloaks with a golden color, likely signifying that of their loyalty to the Imperium. That, and his extra shinies likely noted him as the nominated leader of that faction.

"For once, I agree with my long-time adversary," the lead delegate from the rebellious side replied, judging from the shinies he too bore, with several jeers from all sides accompanying that declaration. They too wore shoulder cloaks, though lined with a more bronze coloration than gold. "What do you want of us?"

"Want? Well, first things first, I want you to put an end to this civil war." Solomon knew putting it simply would be best, even if the terms, agreements and deals would likely be anything but. "Peacefully, I might add. Then we can start with rebuilding everything that was lost."

"Why should we make peace with those who burn our homes, slaughter our people, and parade their cause as just and righteous?" Both lead delegates asked this at practically the same time, and while the wording was slightly different between the two, the message was the same.

"It's because you can't afford not to. Mankind is threatened as we never have been in a very, very long time. We can't afford to let petty things like planetary civil war hold us back from the true task at hand." Petty; yeah, right, as if it were anything but that.

"What is that?" a different delegate asked.

"Survival." He frowned, knowing full well these fools had no idea just how thoroughly boned they were already, and how much worse it could get. "The reason for the lack of aid to your system, the crippling loss of support, lack of trade, and overall loss of communications is simple. We are on the bad side of the Imperium now."

"What do you mean the bad side?"

"A massive rupture in the fabric of reality has torn something akin to the Eye of Terror across nearly the entire galaxy, bisecting the realm in two. It is known as the Great Rift, the Cicatrix Maledictum. The light of the Astronimicon has grown fainter the further from the Great Rift one goes, to where chatter and traffic between systems even a short space away from these clusters is all but gone. On top of that, communications between our half and the rest of the Imperium are all but cut off as well, save for a few localized and out of the way means through systems that have not been cut off from the central Imperium. In short, from the edge of the galaxy to what was close to the heart of the Imperium, we're all massively boned."

The silence was as deafening as could be expected with news like that. Even the Imperium loyalists looked as if someone had told them Sangunila had been canceled forever.

"However," Solomon added. "This does not mean we are totally doomed. We are humanity, and we are capable of surviving against all odds, no matter the foe. However, we will be utterly screwed if we start infighting and tearing at each other when we should be standing together against the oncoming tide that is this damn galaxy!"

"… then what do you propose?" the lead rebellion loyalist asked, with far less gusto than he had before.

"We unite, consolidate, hold and build up what we have and what we can," was his reply. "It will take years to rebuild this planet, years that would be decades if not for the forces and resources we have at our immediate disposal. It will be a long and arduous task getting everything up and running again, so there is little time to waste otherwise. What we must do for this world is simple; rebuild. What we must do for the systems that we can in our area is a bit grander. We shore up defenses, destroy what enemy and obstacles that threaten our existence, and attempt to hold until help arrives."

"Assuming it does not?" the Imperium loyalist delegate asked. "Assuming we are on our own?"

How strange, that the isolationist wanted to know how to work together, where the loyalist was unsure if help from the Imperium would ever arrive; talk about ironic.

"The safest bet is to believe we are already on our own, and while hoping for the best, expect the worst. Whatever forces of the Imperium that were in this portion of the galaxy when the Rift opened are now either unable to leave their current systems or are locked down in campaigns elsewhere. Whatever forces in our area that can be reached, brought back, and still move, must be repaired and rearmed for the coming storm that is undoubtedly going to try and shit all over us. Other than that, we must attempt to hold our own with whatever we have and can make, and with that as our base, strike out to try and save more of the Imperium where travel through space is still possible. We are on a new front line, one we had never been a part of in this portion of the Imperium, and we're gonna need all the help we can get."

"Who will lead this attempt? You?"

"I will do what I can, including assisting in helping you rebuild this world," Solomon said. "However, I have no clue how to run a planet, let alone an entire damn sector of Imperium space. I doubt any of us has the experience for a task like this, let alone in a screwed-to-all-levels-of-hell sort of situation like this. So, no, I will not be your leader."

"Then who will be?"

"We all will be the leaders, a great network of individuals, councils and associations striving towards the same goal. We must all unite together. One central leader on this new front is too tempting a target for a rival faction, usurper or enemy force to try and take out. Instead, we will all work towards the common goal of survival, and eventually, reestablishing proper contact with the rest of the Imperium."

"If there is no one person to lead, then how will things get done?" the rebellious delegate asked.

"We will do it for the betterment of our species, each according to their ability and exactly what they can do to the fullest. Not perfect, I know, and ripe for abuse or backstabbing, but short of the Man Emperor himself somehow calling us and directly directing us, there's no real better option short of forming a large council. We as humans can be a fragile bunch in this galaxy, especially when fractured and alone, yet often tougher than we give ourselves credit for, especially when we band together. Right now, we need to work as one, or else we're all dead, or worse."

"What would you do?"

"The best I could. Help you rebuild your factorums, rebuild your homes, and get this planet back on its feet, with additional defenses to boot. The orks suffered a defeat, yes, but they'll be back, as right now their damn spores are likely slowly germinating right under our very feet. So, while they are broken and scattered, we have time to build the defenses, and get things running again. The dossiers I read on this world said it was fairly adept at building tanks, correct?"

"Indeed, though lack of materials strained our production to the extreme, even before the orks attacked," one of the lesser delegates said. Whoever he was, he was likely a former overseer or corporate magnate of some kind, someone Solomon knew he was going to have to have a talk with about some new tank designs.

"Given that we have been cut off from most other distant fronts and planets, I am certain I will be able to convince Caloris Secundus to send you the raw materials you will need," Solomon replied. He really needed a Forge World capable of producing numbers of tanks, ones preferably of the designs he was looking to try out, and with them being so much closer to the interior of the "safe" region of Imperium space on this side of the Great Rift, they would be an excellent source of future war materiel.

Well, would be when they were rebuilt and back up and running. The many asteroid fields in this and neighboring systems were ideal for his mineral processors.

"What of our people? We have lost countless to the orks and the infighting!" another delegate called out. "Even if many of the manufactorums were up and running by next week and all our resource issues taken care of, many would be too short on manpower to produce much of anything!"

He nodded. "I have a plan for that too. I will be going to every Hive World I can and relocating as many pioneers and colonists as I can to worlds like yours, those in need of rebuilding and labor. I'm pretty sure most would jump at the chance to live and work out in actual sunshine, rather than waste away in underhives and the lowest levels of those cramped death traps." Of course, he'd have to have extensive screening done on whoever took him up on his offer. Couldn't have a repeat of those Slaaneshi cultists again, could he?

In fact, a terrific way to build his military would simply be going to those Hive worlds and offering passage for the families of the lowly and downtrodden poor in exchange for a set time of military service and pay. He'd have access to potentially millions upon millions of people willing and likely able to be either soldiers or support crews, such as tankers, pilots and the like. Of course, local nobles might not like him poaching their undesirables, but then again, they weren't using them for much, so tough shit. He needed troops, these worlds could provide them, and most of the governors would need to be on his good side if they wanted the good shit he was coming up with.

"What do you want in return for driving off the orks, rebuilding our world, and repopulating it?" another delegate called out, earning more than a few shared grumbles on both sides.

To them, he was just an outsider, promising many good things in exchange for likely total control over them. "In return?" Solomon repeated. "I want you to stop this civil war and protect your people. I want you to rebuild your strength and defend your space. I want you to forget the past and instead look to the future of the Imperium. But most importantly of all, I want you to survive!"

He paused, letting his words ring in their heads. "Mankind needs to band together now more than ever! If the Man Emperor were able to ascend from his throne and lead us once more, even if through just speaking with us, then we would not be in such dire straits as we are, as he would know what to do! But we are cut off from him in so many ways, that even if that were to happen, and he were to lead us, there is no guarantee his words could reach us! So, we must put aside the petty differences that have splintered us for so long, and unite! We must drive out the enemy that is at our doors and strive towards the goal he set out for us, to take our place in the galaxy and damn all who would seek to end or enslave us straight to the deepest depths of the Warp!"

Mutters began turning into nods of approval, and even some voices called out, echoing much of what he'd said.

So, we must unite, we must rebuild, and we must fight, fight for our right to live and exist in this grim, dark galaxy that we call home. We must, for each other! For mankind! For the Imperium! For the Man Emperor!"

Cheers began, slowly, to erupt in the room, and soon enough, more joined in the chorus, until the building was a frenzy of pledges, calls for rebuilding, and agreements being reached almost immediately.

Not the best speech he could have done, given the circumstances, but as far as winging it went, Solomon thought he hadn't done too bad. All that was left to do now, when tempers and passions cooled, was get to the real work of talking, wheeling, dealing and perhaps even bribing those it would take to make this idealistic dream into a possible reality. That meant mountains upon mountains of paperwork in the upcoming weeks, and the attempt to fully and completely bring the formerly civil war, now a cold war, to a complete halt.

Oh, joy.

Meanwhile…

High in orbit above Caloris Secundus, Syngra fiddled away in her laboratory aboard the Terra's Scion, machines whirring, lights blinking and piles of debris being constantly sifted through and managed by her small army of assistants. Many of her primary researchers had been recruited from Starth Primus, noted for their intellect and diligence, and as such were currently either pouring over data collected from various sources or were transcribing information from various sources onto several "source" DCDs at once. After all, moving all data onto just one source of information was a fantastic way to lose it to corruption of some kind, mechanical or otherwise. This way, all would have the same data, and therefore be able to be used as the source for numerous duplicate devices fit for whoever the captain decided.

The rest of her cohort, either hired hands from among the civilians they'd acquired over the last few years or armsmen who were being put out of jobs by the addition of Mechanicus auto-loaders on the ship's lance batteries, were busy doing whatever she or her immediate subordinates told them to do. The old storehouse in which the lab was now located had taken some time to clean out, much of which was thanks to those armsmen, but now, in Syngra's humble opinion, this new lab was nearing an efficiency that many others of her order would find themselves jealous of. After all, despite being so small and not all able to conduct as much testing as many other ships of her kind could afford, her works were something she was truly proud of, and it was all thanks to Solomon.

So, despite her loyalty to her order, she had to admit, as she poured over a schematic of an upgraded lasgun, that being loyal to Solomon had more perks than she'd hoped for. After all, she wasn't high-tier when it came to the Mechanicum, but the powers he trusted her with, the inspiration he gave her, and the resources at her disposal made her feel as if she oversaw an entire Mechanicum planet.

Then again, with all he was planning to do, that itself might very well come to pass. The thought made her mechandrites quiver in barely-suppressed joy. Ruling a world, devoted entirely to the Machine God, whose purpose was to rediscover lost technology, push the boundaries with what was currently available, and possibly look into new and potentially Imperium-saving developments? She knew colleagues off on their own missions that would undoubtedly kill for such a chance. In fact, she had no doubt that if her work continued to be of such noteworthy praise and the results spoke for themselves, then Adepts would likely start coming from wherever they could on this portion of the Great Rift to either see this for themselves, get their hands on the tech, or, in some cases, try to work for Solomon as she did.

Many would have ulterior motives, of course, but such was the case whenever someone in the Imperium got shit done and started getting more shit done than others had thought them capable of. Many would be jealous or try to use this for their own power, wealth, or prestige. The amount of peacocking many people in the Imperium, even within her own order, partook in, made Syngra somewhat upset. Solomon had best described it to her that everyone cared about pointless fettering bullshit when they were all literally going to die in horrible, nasty ways if they didn't do something about it.

That, and some of the things they did made absolutely no sense to him, and after some time for reflection, her as well. She noticed that power armor, especially terminator and the like, was described not in how strong it was, but in how easily other things could tear and punch through it. A little digging had told her that, among other things, the strongest of their weapons and technology had not been used for war at all but were standard civilian utilities and tools!

Then again, whispers of what true Dark Age of Technology machines of war and weapons were like told her they'd likely never reach that level again, or if they did, it'd be only after the Imperium was safe once more.

Which was what Solomon was trying to do, even if for just this portion of the Imperium. The Imperium may not have been mankind, but without one, the other would not exist as it did today. So, in this case, to save the human species, they had to try and save the Imperium. Not the whole thing, as they would never acquire the resources, time, or breathing space to do that, but what they could save would go a long way to saving more.

That, and reclaiming it. Syngra had no doubt that other worlds were torn with strife as Caloris Primus was, cut off from trade, martial aid and communications. It would be up to her and her steadily-growing legion of assistants, researchers, designers and idea-makers to come up with the means to do reclaim them. If only they were stronger now, instead of later, they might be able to do so sooner…

Wait, stronger. She peered back down at her designs, an idea popping into her brain. The standard lasgun was strong, and Solomon's correct design (which was a more accurate term than improved, but petty things like that mattered to some) would be much more powerful en masse. Then again, he'd said he needed stronger ship weapons, especially for some of the designs he was working on. What about lasguns in space?

What about… a set of bigger lasguns? Positioned like rows upon rows of lancers, only even larger?

Giant lasguns? Huge clusters designed with pinpoint accuracy and devastating damage potential upon enemy ships?

Absolutely ship-wrecking, continent-melting, overwhelming lasguns? Running along a ship's bow, mounted to the front?

Syngra smiled. The designs were there for a ship built around a singular, large weapon, or a series of such weapons. Her team might not have access to the Nova cannon schematics or resources to build one yet, or even some of the more powerful lancer batteries, or even any Tau tech that could be deciphered and reengineered, but this… this might just do it.

Time to get to work.

 **A/N: well, here it is: after months of waiting, job searches, procrastination, overtime, holidays, and some much-needed vacation, it's finally here. Took much longer than I expected, and experienced several setbacks, delays, and more than one rewrite. All in all, I like how this chapter turned out, and hope to put out more soon. Let me know what you thought of it: ideas for the future, questions, comments, the like, it's all appreciated.**


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